


Silhouettes

by seaquell



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaquell/pseuds/seaquell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss is a private investigator, her biggest case being the mysterious murder of her father. Peeta manages to get in the middle of her business, literally and figuratively, without even being her client. Everlark AU set in Panem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I’ve written in years and the first one in English ever, so I apologize for the mistakes. I feel like you should know this is set in the same Panem Collins created, except there are no Games (at least not anymore) and even people from the poorer districts have cars, cell phones, etc. If you have any questions you can find me on tumblr as seaquell. Thanks to zed0hh for prereading. Feedback is appreciated!

I'm never getting married. You want an absolute? Well, there it is.

Sooner or later, the people you love let you down. They cheat, they lie, they tell you they are at a business meeting in town when in reality they are sleeping with your best friend in a cheap motel in the Seam.

But do me a favor and if it's you in there, dispense with the cuddling. This motel thirst, it is what it is. Make it quick. The person sitting in the car across the street might have a 12-year-old sister who has trouble sleeping without her, and she can't leave until she gets the money shot.

Yes, I make money by finding people's dirty secrets and giving the evidence to already suspecting something, willing to pay from their little savings, people. Yes, I'm also aware I live in district 12, where doing such thing costs me to break more laws than I can count on my fingers. I'm 16, so I'm not even supposed to have a job unless it's listed as my family's business and only merchants have that. We from the Seam are supposed to work in the mines. It's a way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. It's to the Capitol's advantage to have us divided among ourselves.

But it's been 4 years since my father's death and we have to survive somehow. They want me to continue my parent's job? Investigating is just that.

I am doing my father's duty which really was doing the Peacekeepers' duty. When he was alive, he took every single case, always working on more than one at the same time. He didn't do it just for the money, though it was a bonus to our barely held together family of four, he did it because it was the right thing to do. You'd be surprised how many people showed up, both merchants and from the Seam, reporting stolen jewels, looking for missing pets suspecting theft and other more personal stuff, like adultery. He made my life and so many others' better. He gave people hope.

Peacekeepers don't bother with those little things that make up our society. I'm certain they're in the district just to see us crumble down, so it's not hard to understand why they wouldn't waste their time on a runaway kitten. One of the few times you could happen to encounter a Peacekeeper is when they're patrolling at night for citizens that aren't inside their homes after 10pm. That's for the sole reason that they could get some money from the poor people as penalty. If you dare reason with them or even speak back, you get 10 whips on a good day. They're always jumpy, always quick to make the verdict, as if they're running from something. They feed off violence and, ironically, caught illegally wild turkey.

The Capitol rules we're supposed to follow are so twisted they make you think you're safe when you aren't. Citizens aren't supposed to own a gun or any kind of weapon which decreases the chances of robberies and murders, but Peacekeepers don't have trouble pulling a gun to your head for nothing. There are actually a lot of things that are punishable by death. Just because they don't bother finding the criminals doesn't mean they won't kill them when shoved in their face. I try my best to handle everything on my own, so that they no one gets punished or killed and there's only been a few extreme cases I've had to drop anonymous tips to the so called police force.

The thing is, when in danger you can't protect yourself. That's why my father died. He was shot on the street, right in the chest. There is no way dad wouldn't have seen him or her or them coming, from the angle and distance the trigger was pulled. I know he is-was more than capable of protecting himself, but his scare of the Capitol hurting him or our family probably overpowered him. Everyone has seen the damage Peacekeepers can cost on those who dared to go against them or the stupid law at the whipping post. I've seen innocent people get punished just for saying a word.

So if a word can damn nearly get you killed, why am I doing something that is really likely I'll get caught at and get killed?

I didn't use to be like this. I was quite rebellious, alright, but even I wasn't happy about the way my father provided food on the table. And then he died… and I became obsessed with the idea of finding out how he was murdered, why, by whom. I still am. I am very much my father's daughter. It doesn't help that no one, even the police force (especially the police force, they had their doubts about how our family got along so well with only my mother working as a healer and my father quitting the mines) wouldn't do anything about it. All this country did was wipe the red strains of blood off the street and give us some money (not enough, not even close to enough), more to shut us up about the ''accident'' than for us to get a start without him.

The money went as quick as it came. Mother insisted we keep the second floor of our house too – dad's office, even if we could get some cash for it. She wasn't ready to let go of him, she still isn't. I haven't seen much more emotion on her face since then. She doesn't work anymore. At first when clients still came knocking on the door I had to send them back home. Sometimes my sister Primrose felt too bad and tried to help them herself, but there wasn't much an 8-year-old could do and the little medicine we had, we kept for ourselves.

That left me. When I first started investigating I was barely 12. My first and still unresolved case is my father's murder. I needed to go through his files, see if he was working on something more serious than cheating wives and husbands, follow his every move that got him on the place he died.

I had been to my father's working place to bring him food when he was so involved with something he forgot easy routines or just to hang around with Prim after we came back from school, but I had never dared to get a close look at what exactly he was doing.

I found out for the first time what my father did behind closed doors. Pictures of secret affairs, stolen belongings, long documents and reports he couldn't have gotten legally were scattered everywhere. He was doing what the government thought to be a waste of time.

Maybe it was. I haven't heard of anyone divorcing someone in the district ever. I feel like it's sort of a mutual agreement between two people – get married, live together to spend less money, have children to continue the family business, do whatever and whoever you want… Wives and, more often than you think, husbands won't do a thing if I serve them on a silver plate a picture of their beloved one in a inappropriate position. They're just dying to know whether it's someone from the slag heap or someone closer than they think they're being cheated with. It's a small district. Well, my parents had a wonderful marriage and most money comes from those without one, so it works for me.

I focus my attention on the couple behind the window and take a snapshot. I catch the man's face, but if you didn't know for sure the woman he was with, you wouldn't put a name on her. I sigh, looking at the blurry picture. Before his death, under different circumstances, dad taught me how to use a bow. In the past three years I've perfected that skill and now I keep one in the back of the car like he used to, just in case and mostly because my mother insisted. However, I have yet to get better with his old camera.

The man closes the curtains, the woman still not in my view. Now I have to wait until they come out. Seriously people, make it quick.

I don't mind waiting, I go to bed late anyways and most times don't get any sleep at all, but while my sister was just worried when father came home late, now she's worried and not sleeping. Unlike mom, who just keeps silent, Prim insists she's over his death, but her screams at night say otherwise.

If I wasn't scared we'd get caught (by Peacekeepers, others can't really do any damage), maybe I'd take her with me on stakeouts. Prim's basically home alone, with our mother the way she is. She asks to take pictures of flowers and herbs every time we go to the meadow, so I know she's good at that or at least better than me, with my shaky hands and uncertainty. Put a bow in my hands and I'd shoot the target in a second; put a camera in my hands and you'll be wondering what the target even is.

Now that I think about it, I really should hire someone to do the job for me. That way I may be able to do most of the work from home, letters, telephone calls and all. We have more money now, enough to spare some for a fee. I can also pay in old clothes or fresh meat, caught by me, again illegally.

Remembering that one night a few months ago when I found her huddled in a corner in the closet, crying and whimpering, when it took me hours to calm her, does it for me. I decide when I go to the black market, called the Hob, next time I trade I'll spread the word around. If the merchants wanted to rat me out, they would've done it already, but those from the Seam need the job more.

About an hour later, going over my history lesson concerning a brutal competition called The Hunger Games which used to take place annually in our country years ago, I finally see movement on the porch of the couple's room they've rented in Appalachia, the cheapest motel in the district, surely not one that visitors from the Capitol would prefer. The man is coming out, his jacket in hands, the woman still standing at the doorway. They talk for a while, giving me time to get my camera ready.

He leans in to kiss her, just as I take my first shot. Second shot, she's pressed up against the door, hands in his hair. Third shot, Ellesse Mellark is watching her lover walk away with a satisfied smirk I plan to wipe right off her face.


	2. Carry your hurt

The next morning I'm running late to meet my hunting partner and best friend, Gale. Not only did I come home late last night but I had to calm Prim and organize the collected pictures. Even after I laid down next to my deeply sleeping sister, I had trouble getting comfortable. Sleep found me just a couple of hours before I was supposed be awake again. I guess I decided to overlook that.

I climb the hills and find him at to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. His game bag is already full.

''Hey,'' I greet, plopping down next to him. ''Sorry I totally wasted our day, I overslept.''

''Wild night?'' Gale asks, popping a berry into his mouth.

''Try boring, I had the longest stake out ever.'' I don't say more, because of confidentiality and all of that. I am good at what I do, if you exclude the photo-taking part. Gale frowns at this. Other than my job, the Capitol is probably the only thing he is against more. We've argued about this too many times and it never ends well, so I'd rather not go into it again. ''It's not even noon yet, we can still hunt some more, if you want?''

''There's no point. I have enough, so you can take some,'' he says with a shrug.

''Oh, thanks. We have some meat, but I'd need fresh to trade.'' At times like these I'm glad for all these wasted hours in the night, because otherwise my family would still be eating dandelions for dinner. Now I have one thing less to worry about, though sometimes I still find myself counting every coin.

''I'm keeping the rabbits and a squirrel, but we can see about the rest in the Hob,'' Gale says, getting up.

''Um, I actually promised the baker I'll bring him a few squirrels.'' It's a lie and I have other reasons to go see the baker, but Gale won't question it. ''Maybe you could go to The Hob, I to the bakery and we'll meet later?''

Agreeing to go to his house when we're done, we start our walk back to the real world.

Standing in front of the bakery's kitchen door, I don't waste time overthinking, because I know it could mean losing my nerve, so I knock quickly. Though, after seeing me more than once look over inside worriedly while we trade, Mr. Mellark has told me that his wife doesn't do much work in the kitchen, I still worry. All of the reasons a Seam child could possibly be in town are illegal, or at least more than enough to cause a scandal, and if she catches me near her house again I'm sure she won't be afraid to rat me out and then it will all be over because of me being too careless and can someone please open the damn door already?

I'm too busy praying that the person isn't female that I completely forget just how many males occupy the lot. Imagine the panic that sets in when Peeta, the youngest Mellark, opens the door.

Oh, no, I think. Not him. Because I know I can't do it. Delivering the news to him would mean coming full circle from all the years I've spent despising his witch of a mother after seeing just what kind of a mother she is.

He seems just as startled as me, but he manages to get a hold of himself faster.

''Katniss,'' he starts. ''How are you?''

Peeta Mellark and I are not friends. Not even neighbours. We don't speak. Our only real interaction happened years ago. He's probably forgotten it. But I haven't and I know I never will.

It was during the worst time. Three months after my father's death, when my mother didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance; when me and my sister were under the threat of being placed in the community home; when we were slowly starving to death.

Starvation's not an uncommon fate in District 12. Who hasn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Straggling through the streets. And one day, you come upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the Peacekeepers are called in to retrieve the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. It's always the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. But that fools no one.

On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, at that point I was still too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my father's hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of a cupboard. By the time the market closed, I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud puddle. I didn't pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes.

I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants live above their businesses, so I was essentially in their backyards. When I passed the baker's, the smell of fresh bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life. Lifting the lid to the baker's trash bin was another one of my illegal actions. I found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare.

Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see the baker's wife, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the Peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. The words were ugly and I had no defense. As I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering out from behind his mother's back. I'd seen him at school. He was in my year, but I didn't know his name. He stuck with the town kids, so how would I? His mother went back into the bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned against the far side of an old apple tree. The realization that I'd have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain.

There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, It's her. She's coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn't her. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them into the trough, and the front bakery bell rung and the mother disappeared to help a customer. The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? Despite the cold, I still felt myself warm up with rage.

The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. The same kitchen door we're standing in front of right now.

''I'm fine,'' I manage to croak out. You're the reason I'm fine.

And I'm the reason he got punished. The question whether he dropped the loaves into the flames on purpose still haunts me, but I've gotten used to the idea that that's a case that could never be solved.

Still, just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that I could never possibly repay. It's also why telling him how much kinder his mother can get with strangers than with any member of her own family is not something I can handle doing. Of course, if everything goes according to plan, he will have to learn eventually. If he hasn't learned already. Either way I am not going to be handing the evidence to him.

''Should I get my father?'' Peeta asks.

''What?'' His father's face is the last one I want to see right now. Right after his mother's, obviously, especially after last night.

''He's doing a delivery a few houses down. You're here to trade, right? I don't really know how that works.'' He laughs softly and for a moment I'm so transfixed with the sound I almost miss the fact that he knows I hunt. This is the first time anyone other than Mr. Mellark has met me at the door and I can't exactly imagine the family discussing my squirrels over dinner. I find that it doesn't bother me. I wonder if he knows my other secret. He should, considering if he hadn't gotten me on my feet, I wouldn't have either of them.

''Um, I'm actually in a hurry, so maybe we could just get to it? I mean, I'll tell you what we usually exchange and- If you trust me, that is,'' I rant.

''Why wouldn't I trust you?'' He seems truly confused.

Because I'm Seam. ''Because I'm a complete stranger,'' I respond.

Peeta laughs again. ''No, you're not,'' he says and my heart races involuntarily. ''We go to the same school,'' he finishes, not smiling anymore and I can breathe again. I'm not quite sure if I'm relieved or upset.

''Okay. Any preferences?'' I ask, though I know I don't have much game today. If it means beginning to repay him my debt, I'll at least make sure I have what he wants next time.

''You got a couple of squirrels in there?'' He nods towards my bag.

''Yeah,'' I say, getting two out and handing them to him. I don't know why but I can't help but notice our hands don't touch. ''Anything else?''

''That's enough for today, thank you, Katniss. I'll be right back.'' He's closed the door behind him before I can argue or even respond. Besides, what could I possibly say? I can't force myself or what I'm selling. Not that I need to anymore. I have no right to be upset.

I've barely registered the fact that I haven't let Peeta know how much does a squirrel usually cost, before he's back carrying a paper bag that looks fuller than the one with my game.

He gives it to me, a smile back on his face. It's heavy and it warms my hands. I'm hesitant to take a look inside. I have the right to be, because nothing could've prepared me or Peeta for my reaction at the two large loaves of bread, cheese buns and different kinds of pastries.

''No.'' I try to give the bag back to him, but he doesn't take the hint, so our first skin-to-skin contact, after all the anticipation, ends up being me forcing him to grasp it.

''What's wrong? Did you want coins instead? Does my father usually give you more?'' Peeta shoots question after question, neither one of them being close to right. He is now not only pitying me, but also accusing me of gluttony. As if anyone in the district can afford or allow that.

''You don't get to do that,'' I say curtly, but then continue. ''I'm not a helpless child anymore. What is it you want?'' There isn't a way to repay him. There's nothing to repay. There's only pity. I see the understanding dawning on him and I know he remembers.

''Katniss, I never-'' Peeta starts, but his words betray him. He sighs, then begins again, trying another tactic. ''Most of them aren't even from today.''

''Don't lie to me!'' Does he know who he's talking to?

''Fine. Perhaps I was just trying to be kind. There's no law against that, is there?'' Perhaps he does know who he's talking to.

''Why?'' It's all I know. Question everything always.

''We go to school together?'' He tries and if I wasn't glaring at him before, I am now. Peeta sighs. ''I don't know. It felt like the right thing. It feels like the right thing. I don't have any more answers for you, but I can tell you for sure that ''pity'' wouldn't be one of them.''

''I'm taking the two loaves of ,'' I say firmly. ''And one of those cheese buns.''

I don't get to the Hawthorne's house before bumping into yet another Mellark. Just near the edge of town, I spy the eldest brother. I start stomping forward the moment I recognize him.

''Where the hell have you been?'' I demand.

''What happened? I swear, I was sure mother wouldn't come down today,'' Bannock says. He has assured me of this, just like his father.

''She wasn't down,'' I calm him. ''But so wasn't your father.'' I see the realization dawn on him, as his eyes brighten and a smile spreads across his face.

''Oh, Peet,'' he laughs out.

''I'm glad you find this amusing, I really do.'' He won't when his nose is bleeding all over his white merchant shirt. His tardiness has cost me my first real interaction with Peeta Mellark. I guess it's caused it too. Even if the shoe didn't drop where I had imagined it would, at least it dropped.

''Wait. You didn't tell him anything, did you?'' Bannock's smile disappears.

''I'm not supposed to. The fact that you're related doesn't change the fact that I'm working just for you.'' I don't tell him that the case being private has almost nothing to do with me not wanting to spill the news to Peeta.

Remembering what we're having this conversation for in the first place, I give him the folder with the pictures from last night. I don't worry about Peacekeepers, because even if Bannock isn't a student anymore, if they see us they'd still guess we're exchanging notes or homework, or something more standard.

''It's enough, I hope,'' I say and I mean it. I hope it's enough for Mr. Mellark to finally see what kind of a woman he's married, since apparently her being abusive isn't enough. I hope it's enough for her to realize her actions have consequences. I hope it's enough for someone in this poor district to finally gain the courage to do what they feel like is right. Isn't that what Peeta tried to do today?

After that rainy day when he saved my life, I passed him in the school hall. His cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends and didn't acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim and started for home that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to survive. To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed.

Most of all, I hope it reminds him, too, that no matter how long the winter, spring is sure to follow.


	3. I feel a seperation coming on

I’m having lunch alone.

That’s not anything new or even a bit surprising.

What’s new and almost has me choking on my apple, is the person I occasionally spend the break with, Madge Undersee, and Gale walking in the cafeteria together. I don’t have time to react before they’ve both sat down on my table. Next to each other.

I take a small sip from my water, mostly to keep myself from saying something I might regret. Thankfully, Madge isn’t any shyer than ever, as she starts the conversation. I don’t know why I expected her to act differently with an extra person on our table.

“Sorry I’m late. Peacekeepers held everyone up after P.E.,” she says, taking out her lunch. As always, she places most of it in the middle of the table, in a silent offering. This time it’s a bowl of salad and a bag of biscuits. At first it was hard for me to accept anything, but now I reach out for a biscuit without thinking about it too much. Madge knows I’ll bring her strawberries next Sunday. What she doesn’t know is who collects them more often than not. I push the bowl closer to Gale.

“Why?” I can’t help myself. It’s become a habit, this need to know everything. What would Peacekeepers be doing in school? It’s one of the only places we’re free to do whatever we want, as long as we attend. Grades don’t matter much. Everyone ends up working the same job, an excellent student or a complete failure. Big deal if you can recite the over 300 pages of laws and regulations applicable to coal mining while you’re doing it underground.

“There was an argument. You know how Mrs. Williford is, she just had to go and alert them,” Madge explains.

“An argument? Mellark broke that guy’s nose,” Gale intervenes.

“Well, that guy had it coming from the beginning of the class,”

“You haven’t heard half of it. Should’ve been there in math, he had some even nicer things to say about his father,”

They go on recounting, not realizing I’m frozen. I’m only half aware of what I’m doing, as I push the leftovers of my sandwich towards them and grab my bag. I only half hear Gale’s worried “Catnip?” and Madge’s chair turning.

Though he doesn’t do much work, the school still has a so called principal. He’s so old he doesn’t dare leave his office, but he’s always, always there, as the useless rules oblige. I see him only on the first and last day of every school year. Thankfully, I haven’t had my fair share of going to the principal’s office. I do know though that that’s where you’re taken to if you get in trouble on school grounds. I know that’s where Peeta is.

When I arrive though, the only person I find is his father, sitting on a rotten sofa right next to the office’s door. He’s leaning on his knees, head in hands, so he doesn’t notice me. Even in a hurry my steps are soundless. I don’t have time to somehow get his attention before the door is swinging open.

I’m standing right in front of the office, so my gray eyes lock with blue immediately. Rye’s steely gaze doesn’t stay on mine for long, turning instead to his father.

“I get two Saturdays in the mines and a warning. A last one,” he grumbles. All talk and no bite, once again. For the first time I’m grateful.

He’s walking away, not waiting for his father, not waiting for me. Not that I’d know what to say or do. I notice his limp, faintly remember the red stains of blood on his lips and before I know it I’m bursting out “Wait! You should come home with me.”

Rye turns around and, oh, if looks could kill… “For my mother to check out the damage, I mean,” I add, slightly unsure the more time passes, but still determined to help out. I did know what to expect and this is certainly not the first time I’m feeling guilty over the aftermath of a case. However it’s a surprise how much I wish I could take everything back right now, even if it’s not the right thing to do. Seeing Rye this upset makes me feel uneasy and I don’t want to know what kind of feelings Peeta is going to bring out. Right now, I see an opportunity to help out. If I’m just allowed to.

“You’ve already done enough. Thank you, Katniss,” Rye says with a smile that deceives no one. I don’t think it’s supposed to. In fact it has the exact effect he meant it to, making me feel sick.

I’m stuck in the moment, watching him drag his feet away from me, so I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Thank you, Katniss,” Mr. Mellark says and this, this is genuine.

“Don’t thank me. I’m going to bring some salve or something after school,” I nod to reassure both him and myself.

It doesn’t end up being that easy.

“Katniss, I can’t just give you a full jar when you’re not willing to bring the person to me and when you say it’s not for trading,” my mother repeats for what seems like the hundredth time.

“It’s an emergency. I made a promise. I owe somebody something,” I try to say calmly, but by the end I’m barely getting the words out.

“Katniss, what is going on?” For once I wish it was one of her bad days. Then, if I wanted 10 jars, I’d have them.

“Just give it to me.”

‘’Katniss-“

“This is the first time I’ve wanted something from you in the last 5 years, why can’t you just do this for me?!” I try my best not to yell, knowing Prim is in the next room, but it’s hard.

That shuts her up for awhile, but then she asks more timidly, as if afraid of the answer, “Katniss, who is this for?”

“It’s for the Mellarks, okay?” I sigh, getting out of the house to go sit on the porch, where I usually take a look at cases when the weather’s good. It’s late November and I should be finding another way around this in my dad’s office, but I deserve the way my bare hands tremble, how my eyes burn. My nose hasn’t gotten to run before the door opens and my coat is placed around my shoulders.

The pocket is heavy.

I don’t waste any time before knocking on the door. It’s freezing, I don’t know how crucial Rye’s injuries are and my fear of the baker’s wife (or whatever she is now) can’t compare to my determination.

Peeta answers even faster than yesterday. His expression is unreadable and I read expressions for a job.

“Hello,” I say after a silent moment of our usual staring. It comes out sounding more like an apology would rather than a greeting. As soon as I’ve handed him the jar of salve, I put my freezing hands in the pockets of my coat. “For your brother.”

“The bakery’s not open today,” Peeta says, his eyes on the jar. That’s what must’ve gotten people talking. The bakery’s always open. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” I assure him. I’ve done enough. His gaze strays to me and stays there for so long without blinking, I wonder how he’s not crying against the cold.

“So there really isn’t a law for trying to be kind?” He asks, making a smile appear on my face. There’s no denying now, the truth in his words yesterday.

“Not if it feels like the right thing.” This can’t be wrong. “Or if you go to school with the person,” I quip, making him smile too. 

“I’ll be right back,” Peeta says, disappearing into the kitchen and once more I’m brought back to yesterday. If history keeps repeating itself, this time I won’t be able to go around accepting his generosity, so I should probably go right now. But he already said the bakery’s closed, didn’t he? I decide to wait him out, more curious than anything. It’s awhile before he’s back, but he’s got his coat and boots on.

“Rye said to thank you,” he tells me, closing the door behind him.

“No, he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t,” he confirms. “But his sighs of relief said otherwise. Can I walk you home? The wind is so strong and you’re so small, I’m afraid it’ll blow you away.”

I snort, knowing I can get home just safely, the same way I made my way here. But the wind is strong. We won’t be overheard by the small amount of people that have dared to go out in this weather and if there’s a time to talk, this is it.

Neither one of us has taken a chance to start the conversation by the time we’re at the edge of town, just where I met Bannock yesterday. Remembering my thoughts and knowing time’s running out gives me the courage to begin.

“So what exactly happened to Rye, anyway?” I ask as if we’ve been talking all the way up to here.

“Nobody told you?” Peeta asks, surprised as if I’ve just told him I never knew school’s out on weekends.

“I’m sorry I’m not friends with the entire district,” I snap. I did find out from my friends but that wasn’t his suggestion. “I know he got in a fight and he had to go to the principal’s. I meant what set it off.”

“I didn’t mean to say you don’t have friends.” I guess he gets my own suggestions too. “I’m sorry, I just thought you knew, since it seems to be the daily topic in the district… school especially, I guess, I didn’t go today. And a part of me thought you’d figure it out. I should’ve known you don’t know, since you came to the bakery despite it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Despite having not been at school, Peeta tells me what he got from Delly Cartwright, a friend of his, and the little he managed to pry from his father. The talk was already started the moment the town kids noticed Peeta’s absence. Apparently there was just one person who knew or at least thought he knew the details – the judge’s son, Ewald Camden. Assuming Peeta was home with the flu, Delly had said she’d make sure to bring him the homework with some soup later, when Ewald suddenly intervened. Making himself seem like he knew more than even Peeta’s closest friend, he’d confidently said “school’s the least of Mellark’s problems” and “if I had the kind of mother he has, I wouldn’t be able to stomach even soup”. Suddenly everyone became interested in the conversation, friend and strangers, town and Seam; and Ewald wasn’t exactly keeping out the details either. He’d told them about the early phone call his father received, an “emergency situation”. Apparently a case about a divorce to the judge equals a case about a murder to me. Both one in a million. 

By lunch, the entire school knew about the first divorce in the district our generation has ever witnessed, who was getting divorced and, the thing that caused the most noise - why. Except me, obviously. Except I knew first, I just didn’t know everyone knew.

If anyone had any doubt whether the story was just a rumor… well, it was erased the moment everything exploded - math class. The same class Gale had talked about. The class with both Ewald and Rye. Rye, about who there are constant rumors regarding girls, all of them which he’s ignored with a smirk all through high school.

“I guess after Ewald said some nasty things about, I quote, “our sad excuse of a dad”, Rye didn’t feel like smirking anymore.” Peeta sighs.

“I thought it was you.”

“What?” Peeta looks at me. Not a surprise he didn’t hear my mumbled against the wind, unexplained sentence.

“When I learnt that one of the Mellark brothers got in a fight, I thought it was you,” I admit, more loudly this time. Peeta laughs.

“If I hadn’t stayed home today… I don’t know, maybe that’s how things would’ve turned out. Or no one would’ve gotten in a fight, because I would’ve calmed Rye down. Yeah, probably that. Ewald can’t get to me, despite the fact that there was truth to be found in his words,” Peeta says, leaving me with so many questions that I yet again end up speechless for a moment.

“Why were you home?” I decide to ask first.

“Had to help dad separate what little belongings he has from my mom’s,” he says and for once keeps his eyes away from mine. That’s how I know he’s hiding something. Katniss, me, feels this, not the investigator.

“Why isn’t your mom the one separating the things? You don’t trust her?”

“Oh, no, she did it too, mostly with what’s left at the bakery - flour, eggs, things that we can’t just leave for an unknown amount of time. Could hear her angry talking to herself all the way from the bedrooms.” They can’t just leave? For an unknown amount of time?

“Wait, why didn’t the bakery work today? Are you closing officially? What is she making you do?” I ask, question after question.

“She’s not making us do anything, Katniss,” Peeta says, sadly. “I don’t think she knew what she was signing up for when she refused to sign the divorce papers.”

Oh no.

“She refused?” I stop walking and stand in front of Peeta, making him stop too. I don’t care if people watch, I have a feeling this is going to turn out to be like a boring commercial compared to the performances they’re going to get in the upcoming weeks, possibly months. Oh no. “The witch refused?”

“Yes. Dad didn’t waste his time. He’s wasted enough already, so he wanted to just be done with her as fast as possible, but it didn’t quite work out like he’d planned. Mother laughed in his face, literally. She composed herself pretty fast, almost impressively, after being handed the evidence of her affair,” Peeta gulps and takes a pause.

“So the photos didn’t work?” I ask in the same quiet tone and, if we weren’t standing so close, I would’ve had to repeat myself again for sure.

All it takes for me to turn around, not standing to look at him anymore, is the slow shake of his head. No. My hands are still warm in my pockets, so to turn me back around he gently grabs me by the waist instead.

“Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” I laugh and you don’t have to be an investigator to know it’s not real. With our proximity I can’t possibly be cold anymore and his chest is shielding me from the wind, so I can’t blame the dampness in my eyes for anything else than what it is for. Tears.

“More than you can ever know.” I have got to work on reading Peeta Mellark. “Listen, even if things aren’t good right now, at least I’ve seen a glimpse that they could be. My father hasn’t had that spark in his eyes for years, Katniss. Even while we were packing or looking at Rye’s wounds, he looked happier than I can remember.”

“What exactly is the situation?”

“When my mother refused to sign, I think she thought dad would give up. She underestimated him. She didn’t expect him to fight back, and really, who could blame her? They keep surprising each other with their moves, but that doesn’t mean the game’s over. They’re just playing the hard way, the way with attorneys and hours spent in court. Mom refuses to stop working in the bakery and move out, despite the fact that it all belonged to my grandparents; she did gain a certain percent with the marriage. Dad refuses to be under one roof with her, so I guess neither one of us will be. Until it’s settled, I don’t know what mother’s going to do, probably stay at her lover’s, I could care less, but we are moving to Bannock’s. Not going to be fun, I’ll probably have to sleep on the ground or share a bed with Rye, because a room wasn’t enough already,” Peeta explains.

It doesn’t seem like a fun game to play, but I could learn the rules. Nodding, I start walking again, thoughtful.

“Maybe I can help,” I hurry to say, after catching a glimpse of my house down the street.

“You’ve done enough.” He doesn’t say it as a snide remark. Not like Rye said it earlier today, but it still knocks the breath out of my lungs.

Peeta, noticing my reaction, gives me a concerned look, but I let out a shaky breath and continue. “I mean it. I know an attorney. He’s a pain in the ass, but he gets the job done. And, I mean, if you want to, we can look up the divorce process together. I know barely anything about that, so you probably don’t have any idea at all. I do know you’re going to have to be prepared to take that bitch down, so we could check out at all the wounds she’s left you with… I mean figuratively! If you want to,” I repeat, my hands out of my pockets now and nervously playing with each other instead. I’d rather die from cold than from embarrassment.

“Yeah, we could do that. Thanks, schoolmate.” We share a smile as I’m climbing the porch steps of my house.

I’m about to open the door, when I remember something. Peeta’s standing in the exact same place when I turn around, not where I was expecting him to be - halfway down the street.

“Peeta, why did you think I wouldn’t have come to the bakery if I knew the whole story?”

He sucks in a deep breath, as if he’s preparing for his answer to open new kinds of long discussions. “Are we not at the part where it’s, what’s it called, case closed right now? I tho- I had convinced myself we’d just continue going to school every day, circling each other, but always running when we get to close. Like the bread, you know? With your debt repaid, you had no reason to bring the medicine to my brother or offering all of the things you did, but you did it anyway. I don’t understand why.”

He’s not asking me to run away from the question like I’ve been running away from him for years and tell him I’m kind like that to my classmates. Because I’m not kind like that to all of my classmates. Really, he’s not asking me for anything, but if I feel free enough to, I could give him something anyway.

“It felt like the right thing. It feels like the right thing. I don’t have any more answers for you, but I can tell you for sure that ‘’pity’’ wouldn’t be one of them.” I’ve stolen his own words again, but for once they’re real. Turning around, I step inside. I lock the door behind me.

Whatever it is he’s running from, I’m right behind.


	4. How do you feel when there's no sun?

You know that feeling when you can feel people’s gaze on you for some unknown reason? When the reason being unknown is even more unpleasant than everyone trying to burn a hole right through your braid?

 

I don’t. Because I always know the reason.

 

Last year, Madeleine Ashmore’s mother paid me to prove her daughter gets her good grades in English on her own. When it turned out that she copies half of her test from a friend and the other from the notes she takes in class, it was like I opened the gates to hell. Madeleine was grounded until the summer and she, or her friends, didn’t like that one bit. They made sure to sit close to me during classes and make sure I lived in my own personal hell. I failed exams and didn’t answer questions right because I couldn’t concentrate from the constant kicking on my chair. I knew better than to stand up for myself. What would I say? I don’t like what my job sometimes forces me to do either.

 

This time it’s different. What I did for the Mellarks… that was right.

 

That’s what I keep reminding myself as I make my way to my and Madge’s table. She’s late again, but I doubt it’s because of a fight, since I haven’t seen the main troublemaker around school today. His brother is, though. I guess they’re done packing, or maybe that’s what Rye’s home for. My version is his bruises kept him in bed. I would’ve asked Peeta, but he walked right past me in the hallway and didn’t turn around even once in History. He’s colder to me now than he was during the many years we spent not having spoken a word to each other. I don’t care. It’s not like anything’s changed. This is the way things used to be and I need things to be the way they used to be. I don’t care.

 

I do care. I do care that everyone, Seam and town, are staring as I take a bite of the last cheese bun Peeta gave me on Sunday. The bakery’s been closed for two days. The only bakery. There’s no need to ask why or thanks to whom. I hope the torture doesn’t start today because I have a Biology exam I know I can nail (unless someone is snickering in my ear; haven’t I had enough, haven’t I seen the emptiness in my mother’s eyes and what it did to her to lose her husband and oh, our poor family, haven’t I faced starvation right in the eyes and I can hear it already because it’s what I’ve told myself too).

 

I stand up and gather all of my stuff, except what’s left of the cheese bun, which doesn’t make me feel much better, because no matter what you do, you never throw away food. I leave the cafeteria from the door leading to outside, closing the door as quietly as possible. It didn’t matter, as I catch a glimpse of everyone’s eyes trained on me, some even turned around on their chairs.

 

Outside there are tables too, empty now, but full of students whenever the weather’s good. I don’t mind the cold and I could easily stay here, but with the big cafeteria windows I might’ve as well remained inside. So I run and don’t stop until I’ve reached the other side of the school building.

 

Excluding the woods, this is my favorite place. The reason I like it so much, really, is because there’s nowhere else you have such a good view at them. The meadow leading to them is too big, bigger than the one by my house, but just the tiniest glimpse makes me miss the weight of the quiver on my back or just the silence you can’t find at a school full of hormonal teenagers. It would be so easy to jump the school’s fence and take off. It would also be incredibly dumb. Even I’m not quick enough not to get noticed before I’m too far away to be recognized.

 

I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts, I instinctively reach for an arrow when I hear unknown footsteps. Except they’re not unknown.

 

“Sorry,” Peeta says, after seeing how I jump in surprise.

 

Shrugging, I take a seat on the one and only bench. It’s been here since the first day I found this place in 7th grade. It was old then, so you can imagine the condition it’s in now.

 

“Are you okay?” I want to roll my eyes at how predictable he is. Treating me like I don’t exist in public, but when we’re alone – like I’m his bestest friend. Again, I don’t care, but he has no right to come to my place. How does he even know my place?

 

“What are you doing here?” I ask my own, instead of answering his question.

 

“Delly told me you looked very upset.”

 

“Was that before or after you guilt tripped me with your rich kids friends at your rich kids table?” I blurt out, before I even think about it. I saw exactly where Delly was today – at the table where the most snickers were coming from. Merchants don’t need to be worried the bakery’s closed; it’s going to cost them a bit more, but they can survive on other food for a while or buy damn ingredients themselves.

 

“It was before she proposed to find the nurse and after she searched the whole school to find me.” I don’t even bother trying to hold his steady gaze to intimidate him, I just dart my eyes away, back to the woods.

 

“Sorry,” I say and he shrugs, much like I did a moment ago, and sits down next to me. We sit in silence for a while.

 

“What are you doing here?” Peeta sighs, knowing I wasn’t satisfied with his last answer.

 

“Are you okay?” This time I do roll my eyes. “I wanted to make sure you are. You should be. You don’t deserve this.”

 

“What exactly is this? Some dumb girls, whose personal cheap dictionaries, happen to be 90% profanities? Guys, whose lives are over after high school, bumping me into lockers? They can’t get to me.”

 

“Obviously they can, since you prefer to freeze out here than to enjoy your food inside where it’s warm. As warm as it gets in the damn school, anyway,” Peeta says.

 

“I’m okay, okay? I just got a little tired of listening to people who don’t know the truth or glaring at me for something I had no control over. It’ll all be water under the bridge by next year,” I insist, though deep down I’m not so sure.

 

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

 

“Don’t be. I’m not. I know what I was signing up for. I didn’t expect it to happen and I thought it’d be half done by now, but the risk was always there. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last. This just happens to be a more… personal case and yeah, maybe they do get to me, but that’s just because they don’t know I did the right thing.” Oh, if people only knew the bruises Peeta sports from time to time aren’t from wrestling or bumping into doors… I doubt I’d be the one they try to burn holes through. They’d literally burn the witch. Everyone likes Peeta. That’s why they choose to gossip about Rye, isolate me, but not Peeta.

 

I don’t dare turn around, feeling his gaze all over me. I stare right ahead at the only image that calms me down, but it’s no use, because when I finally turn back to Peeta, my heart jumps. He’s so close. Have his eyes always been so blue?

 

I lean back against the bench, feigning tiredness. “How did you find me so fast?”

 

Peeta’s the one who turns away this time, scratching his neck. Interesting.

 

“Well, um… I’ve kind of seen you here before. On more than one occasion.”

 

That’s not possible. If anyone saw me I’d switch places immediately. I’m actually not sure I would’ve if it was just Peeta, but still… I would have known.

 

“When?”

 

“The first time was when I was still a wrestler. The gym has an exit right behind that corner.” He points to the left. “Everyone always exits from the school’s doors, but I personally don’t feel like going through the halls again after spending the entire day doing that already. So I’d get home from this way instead.”

 

“Still, I would see you if you pass right in front of me. And what was I doing here after classes are over, anyway?”

 

“You were waiting for your sister,” Peeta says and I raise an eyebrow at his certainty. “When I saw you, I stopped in my tracks and hid behind the corner. That makes me sound like a stalker. I’m not, I promise. I just didn’t want to disturb you, unlike I did just a few minutes ago. You look so peaceful here, you know that? I can only imagine what you’re like in the woods.”

 

Gale says I never smile except in the woods. Gale is wrong.

 

Seeing the corners of my mouth tug up slightly, Peeta relaxes and smiles sheepishly too.

 

“Prim called you shortly after. I didn’t just sit there for hours staring, so don’t you think that.” I didn’t think that. Except now that I do think about it… Why didn’t he tell me he was glad that after all he didn’t have to take the other way out? That’s what would’ve happened if Prim had taken longer, isn’t it?

 

“I never got to see you here after practice again.” Get to see me. As if we’re friends or something. “But there have been other cases, when I’d avoid going home and circle the school instead. Sometimes you’ll be here, sometimes not. Either way it helped.”

 

My heart clenches at the thought of Peeta not being able to find solace in the one place you’re supposed to feel safe at. My rage is soothed by the thought of him finding it here. Or in me.

 

I gulp. “Why did you stop wrestling?” I do wonder. He came in second in a competition last year, only after Rye. What’s changed since then?

 

“My mother,” he says and I wish I hadn’t asked. I should’ve seen this coming. “She used to love listening to people compliment her sons on their success, but then she stopped coming to the bakery at all. Makes sense now. Can’t be in two places at once and lovers are more important than anything.” I’ve never heard his voice this bitter. It’s not self-pitying; it’s anger, it’s not being able to understand how can someone be this cruel. I don’t get it either. “She signed me off without even asking me, but kept Rye on the team. Now she can have both – the good comments and the balance in the bakery. Not that she got much of anything done, anyway.”

 

I imagine having to give up something you love to do. Then having to see somebody else doing it. Peeta’s not the kind of person to say “If I can’t have it, you can’t either”, in fact, I bet he just smiles through it all and claps Rye on the back. He just shouldn’t have to. I place my hand on his, the one he has on his knee.

 

“Peeta, is she going to fight for you too? I mean, is she okay with the fact that you’ve just left with your father?” The question whether the witch is going to give up her sons just like that has been on my mind since I learned this is going to be taken to the judge.

 

I don’t get an answer for a while. Peeta just stares at our hands, for so long, I grow concerned. What’s so bad?

 

“I kind of thought she’d want at least the scandal, you know? It’d look good. It’d be a good story. She’d make my father the bad guy, make her lover “the new father”. Except she has no time or desire even for that. I’m not sad, I’m not angry, I’m just… shocked. That’s what makes it worse. You’d think I learned my lesson. Money comes before family. Always has, always will.”

 

I don’t tell him that this is for the best. If she wanted to take her children too, then the lawsuit would surely be prolonged. I don’t even want to think about the possibility of her winning it. Then it would’ve been all for nothing. There’s no way I’m letting her walk out of this a victor.

 

“Well, she’s not getting either of those,” I assure Peeta, absently stroking his hand. “I’m going to the lawyer I told you about after school. Do you know if your mother has found one already?”

 

“Haven’t talked to her since all of this started. That’s what me and dad agreed is best.” I nod in agreement. “But I’m pretty sure a friend of hers is a lawyer. Whether they still keep contact I don’t know, but it’s a possibility she’ll be the one we’re facing. Carol something.”

 

“Should be easy to track her down. I’ll tell you about both of them tomorrow… perhaps tonight? Do you have a phone I can reach you at?”

 

“Wouldn’t it be easier if I just came with you to this lawyer of yours? He’d probably want to have at least the slightest idea about who he’s going to be working for,” Peeta suggests.

 

“He doesn’t have much of a choice here. It’s not like people search for a lawyer every day, you know. And even if he was picky, I’m not asking for his opinion. We need the best, he’s the best. We’re getting him.” I come out more confident than I sound in my head. To be honest, I’ve been denied his partnership more than once. “It wouldn’t hurt if you join me, no. He lives pretty far, so we’re going with my car. Do you need to go to Bannock’s after school or…?”

 

“No, if you’re okay with leaving right away, then it’s fine.” I nod, thankful for once for the bad weather that forced me to drive me and my sister this morning. Now we won’t have to waste time going back to my house. I can only hope Gale’s going to be okay with taking Prim there. “We have 6th period together, anyway,” Peeta says.

 

I nod again, just as the first bell rings. “I have P.E. now. See you then?” After he nods back, I take off in the direction of the gym, taking the same road that Peeta does.

 

The biology quiz went pretty well, I think. It was the same period Peeta and I had together. When I arrived, I was relieved to find him behind my usual seat and not Madeleine or whoever felt like messing with me today. I was able to answer all of the questions and even help Peeta out with a few when he started, subconsciously, kicking my chair to relieve his stress.

 

There are still a couple of minutes left, but I’ve already handed over my sheet to the teacher. On the same note I’ve written down some of the answers to the quiz, I add where my car is located in the parking lot. Stretching my arm backwards as if to fix my braid, I pass the note to the still working Peeta and begin to gather my stuff. When I lean down to put everything in my bag that’s carelessly left on the floor, I spot the small sheet of paper next to my shoe.

 

“Wait for me outside the classroom?”

 

I sigh quietly, knowing it’s useless to avoid it anymore. It’s not like people haven’t been staring at each of us all day, but I’d rather not witness the chaos when they see us together.

 

The bell rings, so getting up, I turn around and give Peeta a quick nod before leaving the classroom. I lean against the wall next to the door. Being one of the first to walk out, I am now forced to witness everyone else doing it. The reason for the double stares isn’t hard to guess. I don’t have many friends. Who could I possibly be waiting for?

 

After what seems like hours (but it can’t be because there are still students in the hallway… unless they’ve stopped just for me), Peeta leaves the classroom. He’s not alone. The boy he’s chatting with seems confused when they stop not long after the door. It’s not until he spots me that he realizes Peeta’s reached his destination. I keep my eyes on the floor the whole time, but I quickly grow impatient and look the guy straight in his. After he finally nods goodbye, Peeta turns to me, “Come on.”

 

Most of the remaining in the hallway still have classes left and are standing closely to their lockers, either taking out their books or chatting. Unfortunately, that forces us to walk right in the middle, where, even if you don’t want to, you will see us. The only person I’m glad to spot is Gale, who, as my sister, has 1 more class and will then drive her home with his truck, as promised.

 

I’m not so happy about the others. I try to keep my eyes on the ground as I’ve learned is best, but the many people that pass are making it impossible. To help us get through faster or for comfort, I don’t know, Peeta grabs my hand. He doesn’t have time to lace his fingers with mine before I’m pushing his hand away and putting my own in my jacket’s pockets. This doesn’t go unnoticed by neither Peeta, nor everyone that’s got their attention on us. I imagine some are shaking their heads in disapproval, some saying Seam trash like me obviously doesn’t deserve him, but I only care about Peeta’s reaction. He’s looking miserable as if the school day just started instead of ended. Still, when a big group of students walk right through us, more than likely on purpose almost bumping me into a teacher, I feel his gentle push on my back. Not long after that we’re finally outside.

 

It’s not until we’ve hurried to my car and settled next to each other that I blurt out, “What were you thinking?”

 

“Judging by your voice, I wasn’t,” Peeta says, buckling his seatbelt. I don’t bother with my own for now, because I have no intention of leaving the parking lot until we settle this and he understands why I’m upset.

 

“What about what they were thinking? I don’t want anyone, including you by the way, to come to the conclusion that I’m doing this because we’re friends or something. We’re not.” Obviously, since it’s like I don’t exist whenever someone else is with us. And it was me who helped him in Biology.

 

He huffs, exhaling a cold breath. There isn’t a heater in my car. Investigating in the winter is a pain in the ass. “Okay. I enjoyed that thought for as long as I could… wish it was for longer, but okay.”

 

Okay? I huff too, turning to buckle my seatbelt. With my shaking hands it seems impossible, so I just give up and turn to Peeta again. “Which part did you enjoy? The one where I’m kind to you and you’re kind to me and it’s all okay, until it’s not just the two of us anymore? It really seems like a good deal, now that I think about it, I see why you wouldn’t think twice about walking past me in the hallway.”

 

Thankfully, he doesn’t deny it. I would’ve started the car just to dump him on the side of the road if he even tried to. “I didn’t think much about it, no. And walking past you isn’t nearly my best, or I guess my worst. I switched directions to avoid interacting with you and might of have overslept today to miss our first period together.”

 

I can’t believe he’s saying these things to me. Why did I sign up for this case at all?

 

“I’m so sorry.” I look up, surprised. “I thought you’d get it. I was doing it to avoid what just happened when we walked down the hallway together. But then lunch happened and I realized I was going at it the wrong way.”

 

“That was stupid, Peeta. We already have more than enough attention separately.” I don’t tell him how I was dreading being spotted with him too. Seriously, if he had stopped me when we saw each other in the hallway, there’s a possibility I would’ve ran away.

 

“I know. There’s nothing to hide. I’m never hanging with half of those idiots ever again. I thought we could spend lunch together from now on, but since we’re not friends…”

 

“We’re friends,” I interrupt him. “I’m sorry I pushed you away. It was an instinct to protect us.”

 

When he hesitantly grasps my hands, I don’t hesitate to link my fingers through his. I end up driving with just one hand the whole time.

 

“Have you ever been here before?” I ask Peeta when we step out of the car. The small village is about 3 miles from the center of town and it seems like another world entirely even in our small district. There are twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of my own. Eleven stand empty, as they always have. The only one in use belongs to Haymitch Abernathy.

 

Haymitch’s the richest citizen of district 12 and his wealth obviously comes from his family and not just his job which he rarely does. Strangely, he lives all alone now. I don’t know what happened to his close ones. He’s the only one who can afford to not only rent a house here, but buy it. People that are in the district for a visit usually stay in this village.

 

Peeta shakes his head, looking around. I almost laugh at his astonished expression as he takes everything in, but I know my own reaction wasn’t much different when my father first brought me here as a child. Dad didn’t look too happy then and wanted to get home as soon as possible, but I never forgot this place.

 

“Wait…” Peeta says, clearly realizing where we are. “You’re taking me to the district’s drunkard?”

 

“Do you believe every story that people go around saying about me?” That shuts him up as we make our way through the village. “Well, actually, most of the stories about Haymitch are true. But he still gets the job done as long as he has the desire to do so.”

 

“No offense, Katniss, but we’re just a couple of kids. He probably has more money than he needs. Why would he want to help us?”

 

“None taken, Peeta, but he is going to help us. It’s all about acquaintances. Haymitch and I, we go way back.” Haymitch and my father go way back, we can barely stand each other, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

 

Haymitch's house, despite the care taken by the grounds-keeper, exudes an air of abandonment and neglect. I brace myself at his front door, look at Peeta, then push inside without bothering to knock first. He’s not going to answer. My nose immediately wrinkles in disgust. Haymitch refuses to let anyone in to clean and does a poor job himself. Over the years the odors of liquor and vomit, boiled cabbage and burned meat, unwashed clothes and mouse droppings have intermingled into a stench that brings tears to my eyes. I wade through a litter of discarded wrappings, broken glass, and bones to where I know I will find Haymitch. He sits at the kitchen table, his arms sprawled across the wood, his face in a puddle of liquor, snoring his head off. I nudge his shoulder. “Get up!” I say loudly.

 

Nothing. Haymitch is still dead to the world. I make Peeta fill a basin with icy cold water and before he can stop me, I dump it on Haymitch’s head. A guttural animal sound comes from his throat. He jumps up, kicking his chair ten feet behind him and wielding a knife. Spewing profanity, he slashes the air a few moments before coming to his senses. He wipes his face on his shirtsleeve, glaring at me. Then he notices I’m not alone.

 

“New boyfriend?” I hate myself for the heat in my cheeks, since that was obviously his intention. 

 

“My name’s Peeta Mellark,” he intervenes, taking out his hand for Haymitch to shake, which he of course doesn’t do and instead chooses to stare Peeta up and down.

 

At least he got Haymitch's interest, as he is now staring at me with eyebrows raised, silently asking me how did I manage to find someone so well-mannered. Thankfully, he doesn’t say it aloud or any other jab at me, and moves on. He does know I don’t just bring in people like that unless it’s business.

 

"What can I do for you, Peeta Mellark? Oh, wait a minute. Tell me you're Mellark as in Mellark bakery." Peeta nods, confused. "Good, that’s good. Then, whatever your problem is, I’m not fixing it unless the payment is in food."

 

"Haymitch, that’s ridiculous--" I start to protest, but Peeta interrupts me.

 

"I’m sure that can be arranged even though the bakery's not open right now… That’s kind of why I’m here, actually."

 

As Peeta explains the situation, Haymitch listens surprisingly attentively, even asks him the right kind of questions at the right places. I’m not needed much until after Haymitch’s officialy agreed to be on Mr. Mellark’s side.

 

"I see you strongly believe in what you’re fighting for, but there are going to be people that are completely indifferent. You need to convince them, collect strong evidence against that woman." As we were planning to. “I’m going to contact her soon, but you stay away!”

 

"Thank you, Haymitch," I say finally.

 

"Yeah, yeah, just doing my job. Send me whatever I need to sign and you tell your dad to come see me sometime this week." He turns to Peeta, who can only nod, trying to contain his emotions.

 

I stare at him on the way to the car, trying to gauge his reaction, but he’s completely still. It’s all over when we get inside. He starts laughing and I sense where this is going immediately. He’s been trying to be strong for too long and I knew it was about time for him to break. I had just selfishly hoped it wouldn’t be in my company, because for some reason whenever he’s hurt it reflects right back to me. I’ve already leant forward and rested my head on his shoulder when his cries begin.

 

"Dont. Don’t, she doesn’t deserve it," I say close to his ear. It doesn’t work and I realize how truly scared he is. "Shh, you'll be okay." I'll be with you.

 

"Katniss?" I hear him say after a while with a sniff.

 

"Hm?" I could fall asleep like this.

 

"I want you to tell them about the bread."

 

I feel chills all the way down to my toes. The bread, which we do not talk about. He wants me to talk about it in front of strangers. I stand up straight to look at him properly.

 

"Me?"

 

"Yes. Her attitude towards me is going to be pretty obvious by that point. They need to know how she was to you, too."

 

"She was hardly the only one, Peeta," I say sadly, but also matter-of-factly. I hate her more for the bruise on him than for the emptiness in my stomach.

 

"Doesn’t matter. I want her to regret it," he spits out, staring at the raindrops that have begun to collect on the window, while I can’t take my eyes off him.

 

"Then I’m going to tell them about the boy with the bread, too." My quiet, but determined voice breaks at the end and I wouldn’t be sure whether he heard me if I hadn’t felt him turn to me suddenly. I don’t look back, not when I start the car and not when I pull up to Bannock's house that Peeta had to break the silence and direct me to.

 

I do look when, after a short goodbye without even waiting for my response, Peeta gets out of the car and hurries inside the house, either because of the rain or to get away from me. I’ll never know.

 

It bugs me all through the rest of the day, making me snappy even at Prim. It’s not until after dinner when I’m laying on my stomach, looking up information about his mother’s friend on my laptop, that I finally find a good enough reason to contact him. I dial his phone number. He picks up immediately. I wonder if he would’ve done the same if it wasn’t an unknown caller, but Katniss on his screen.

 

"Hello?" His voice is raspy as if he’s just woken up. I look at the clock. 7:30pm.

 

"Sorry, were you sleeping?"

 

"Katniss? Um yeah, thought I’d get a few hours on Bannock’s bed before I have to move to the floor." He laughs. "It’s okay, though, he's probably already planning to storm in and throw me out, so thanks."

 

"You're welcome?" I laugh awkwardly, glad that at least it’s not the kind of awkward I expected. "Well, um... your mom’s friend, or should I say her official lawyer, sure is something. Caroline Campbell, born here but studied in district 2, has lived in the Capitol, has won every case she's had come her way, and not just in this district."

 

"Well... though I’m sure the reason my mother finds her acceptable is because of her connections to the Capitol, that's probably more than even she knows."

 

I laugh. "I have my sources."

 

"I guess that’s also where you took my telephone number from?"

 

I flush because it is. "Well, you never got to give it to me!"

 

"Who said I wanted to give it to you in the first place?"

 

"Peeta..."

 

"Yes, Katniss..." he says, mimicking my tone.

 

"There's an empty place at my lunch table tomorrow."


	5. Chasing visions of our future

"Wake up!"

It's so cold. That's not unusual, but right now it's even colder. Where are the sheets? I search with my hands, but can't reach far enough. Grunting, I open my eyes to find them easier and wish I hadn't. There's a bare foot right in front of my face.

"Rye!" I exclaim, sitting up, suddenly awake.

"Told you to wake up, didn't work. Thought you might want a little motivation," Rye says with a smirk, leaning against the wall.

"Gross."

"And you are going to be too unless you take your turn in the bathroom right now. I was feeling nice enough to wake you up before you miss it at all. Doesn't mean I won't kick you out if you're in there for more than 8 minutes. Actually, 7 minutes, 30 seconds and counting…"

I groan and stand up off the floor, stumbling against the wall and then proceeding to drag my feet to the bathroom. I close the door as quietly as possible, in case someone's lucky enough to still be sleeping. My annoying brother isn't to blame for my grumpiness, it's how bad my last two nights have been. The first night I didn't sleep at all, not used neither to the different house, nor to the cold ground beneath my head. I thought last night would go better, with an extra pillow and blanket, and it did. I managed to fall asleep, but I wish I hadn't. I woke up countless times from nightmares, too discontinuous for me to remember, but always with my mother as a main participant. Each time I was too exhausted to think too hard about them, so I managed to go back to sleep, just to wake up not much longer after that, shivering and sweating at the same time.

The nap I tried to take beforehand was shortly interrupted by Katniss, though somehow I was feeling energized after our talk. Too giddy, I went to bed later than usual after I finally convinced myself that'll make the next day come faster. Now, even considering the nightmares, I wish I had controlled myself faster, because my eyes are closing and I'm not even at school yet.

It probably wouldn't have been bad to take a cold shower to wake me up, but in the end I choose to take a hot one, because my back is killing me and because it's going to piss off Rye, who's always cold. I laugh when, as I'm reaching for the soap, my brother calls out a threat about what's going to happen to me if there's no hot water left. I decide to be considerate this time, quickly rinsing off and wrapping a towel around my waist. I'm barely out of the bathroom before my Rye's walking right past me and slamming the door in my face.

"You're welcome," I say, walking back to "our" room. It actually belongs to our not born yet nephew, but we all decided it'd be better for us to sleep on this floor rather than on the living room's, where dad snores his head off. We've moved the not in use yet crib and shelves to the side of the windows, so there's more space and so that they keep at least some of the cold out.

I pull out the easiest pair of clothing to reach in my unpacked luggage – a pair of blue jeans and a beige sweater. After quickly putting them on, not having anywhere to check if I look presentable enough, I start making my way downstairs. I pass by the living room and notice that the couch is empty. The sheets are gone too, so dad must've woken up a while ago. Even without a bakery, he still remains a baker at heart.

I'm more surprised when I don't find him in the kitchen, either. I told him yesterday about the visit to Haymitch Abernathy he's got to take, but I don't think he's naïve enough to think the drunkard would be awake this early.

"Your dad got a few calls from people, asking for deliveries. We could use the money," Elsa, Bannock's wife, tells me when she sees me standing awkwardly. We don't know each other very well. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only not so obvious thing she knows about me is the reason I have to stay in her home.

"Oh. They should've woken me up earlier. I could've helped," I say, though it's hard not to flinch at the idea of getting even less sleep. Still, I hate feeling useless, which is what I've been since we moved here.

"It was just a couple of simple bread orders, no point in three people working on one recipe. The kitchen's too small, anyway." I nod, finally walking in said kitchen. "There are scrambled eggs on the stove. That is, if Bannock left any, of course," Elsa says with a smile and then returns to her book.

I fill a plate with eggs, grab a piece of the bread that's left on the counter and take a seat next to Elsa. She stands up shortly after that and I sigh at my failed attempt to get to know her to avoid any more awkward interactions. Now, naturally, I've made it even more awkward. She sets her book on the counter and takes two glasses out of the cupboard. It's not until she's setting one of them, filled with orange juice, in front of me that I realize she's just being polite and smile. She returns the smile, but that makes mine disappear. The way she's looking at me reminds me of the way dad did when he told me we were moving here. She's about to tell me something she doesn't want to, but has to. I clutch the glass while she clutches my other hand.

"Peeta, I'm telling you this, because your father or brothers never will. I meant what I said – we could use the money from deliveries… it's just not enough. It was barely enough when the bakery was open. I'm stuck here and that puts a lot of weight on Bannock's shoulders." Her sigh tells me this problem is way older than yesterday. "The baby's not even born yet. What's going to happen when it is? We don't have money for ourselves and you don't even have a roof over your heads. We need to do something before it's too late."

I did know we can't live here for much longer. Elsa's almost 8 months pregnant and time's running out. Even if we win back the bakery and our home, we can't know when that would happen. I don't want to think about the situation if we lose everything forever.

"It's too cold outside to go around asking people if they want to buy anything from us without the guarantee that they will and with the chance of Peacekeepers noticing. Rye declined but I… I was thinking you could tell your friends and they could tell their families about the deliveries your dad and Bannock are willing to do. Just friends, though. I know it's against the law without the Mellark Bakery sign, but I don't know what we'd do otherwise, Peeta, I don't know…"

"Okay." I let go of the glass and place my hand on top of ours. "I will and I'll be careful. I don't know if it will make a big difference, though."

"People are starving. As heartless as it may sound, we can use that in our favor."

I nod. Everyone can afford at least a loaf of bread, as long as there is somewhere to buy it from. Even the merchants must be finding themselves in trouble now.

"Months ago I tried to give a couple of my paintings to my parents to sell, but they refused to "let me use them"… which I guess I was trying to do." Elsa's family owns a tiny art shop in town. If it wasn't for her mother's paintings being sent to the Capitol, they'd be one of the poorest citizens. I can count on my fingers the people in this district who can even dream about buying something from there; about buying something for their own entertainment. It was one of my own dreams, which is why Elsa and Bannock even know each other. When he was still in school and had the responsibility to get me home safely, I'd beg him to go past the art shop, even just to stare through the window, much like I've seen Katniss and her sister do at the bakery. One time he was nice enough to agree to go inside and it wasn't until that started to happen more than once a week that I realized Bannock had found his own entertainment in the painter's daughter.

Elsa doesn't have the greatest relationship with her family, either. You don't need to know her very well to notice that. While she was invited to a dinner with our family at least once a week, I doubt Bannock's even stepped foot in her house. I don't think it's because they don't approve of him, I think it's her they're disappointed in. Elsa and Bannock were both terrified when they learned about the pregnancy. It was then that Elsa began to join us for dinner even on the nights my brother was supposed to come alone and she - to go to her own childhood home.

"It's funny, really. A year ago they were begging me to paint, so I could get the chance to go to the Capitol, possibly even move there. Now they don't think they're enough for a small shop in district 12." She laughs bitterly.

I can't think of a good enough response. It'd be like comforting myself for the things my mother has said to me. Scars left from words take longer to heal than bruises from a slap (or a punch or a kick). Thankfully, Rye walks in before I'm too deep in thoughts of the past.

"You done?" He asks me and I shake my head, looking at my untouched plate. Rye stayed at home yesterday because he could barely walk thanks to the kick Ewald gave him, but he seems fine today. All because of the medicine Katniss delivered, of course. Otherwise he would have probably missed the rest of the school week. Ah, wishes.

"No, but if you are, go ahead. I'm meeting Delly at her house before that anyway and something tells me you wouldn't want to accompany me."

"Why's that? Delly's nice." I snort. If I had a penny for every time I heard that… well, we wouldn't be worrying about money. Not that it's untrue, but Delly's so much more than just nice.

"Well, you see, Rye… I know sometimes, with the good treatment here, it's easy to forget, but you don't live at the bakery anymore," Elsa hints with a smile.

"I'd have to do more than cross the street to get to the Cartwrights," I add. He gets my drift and goes to put on his coat, murmuring about how I'm either the best friend anyone could ask for or a complete lunatic. Since Delly is the best friend that could exist, allowing me to complain to her about anything and everything, I'm clearly a lunatic.

After quickly packing two cupcakes and, to Elsa's insistence, the leftover bread, for lunch, I go to put on my coat and boots. I grab my bag and with a quick goodbye, step outside. The hot shower wasn't such a bad idea after all, the cold wind does a good enough job to wake me up. We'll definitely have snow by the end of the week. In my hurry to get inside a warm place again, I must get to Delly's house earlier than we agreed on, because when I arrive in front of the shoe shop there's no sight of her. Looking at the shoes displayed on the window, I jump slightly from one foot to another in an attempt to get warmer. I really jump when my arm is being grabbed and I'm hauled down the stairs.

"See anything you like?" Delly's laugh is too loud for this time of the morning.

"I doubt I'll be able to afford anything you sell in there soon, Del," I say, immediately regretting it when I see her smile disappear. It's not for long though, neither the rainy clouds on the sky nor the dark clouds I constantly put over our heads stand a chance next to Delly Cartwright's optimism.

"Not anytime soon perhaps, but after the people that are afraid of your mother, meaning half the population of the district, are finally free to enter the bakery, you'll be better financially than ever. Money isn't the best prize in this situation, but it's still there," Delly says, linking her arm with mine, for both warmth and comfort, as we begin our walk to school.

"Not if the bakery and our home aren't there. The possibility that we won't win is." I'm usually a glass half full person too, but it's kind of hard to look at the positives when there are so many negatives and the stakes are this high.

"The chance of losing is easy to forget with Katniss Everdeen on your side." Sometimes I think my friend admires Katniss more than I do. That at least actually works as reassurance. I sigh, defeated.

"Good morning to you too, anyway."

"Sorry. Good morning. I might of have woken up on the wrong side of the bed today. Actually, I didn't even wake up on a bed, so that might be for blame."

"It's totally okay, whatever the reason. What won't be okay is if you ditch me at lunch again today." I scratch my neck nervously and she gasps. "Peeta! Who even let you in the art room yesterday, anyway?"

"Please, the teacher loves me," I say, simply stating a fact. I'm one of the few people, if not the only one, that doesn't take her class as just an hour in which you get to entertain yourself for a difference in your boring schedule.

Avoiding both Katniss and our fellow curious classmates had become a nightmare pretty quickly, by lunch to be exact. I wanted at least half an hour in which I didn't have to be on my toes, as if waiting for a bomb to drop. When I passed by the art room, it almost called to me. Miss Manet was just heading out and didn't need much convincing to give the keys to her favorite student and go get some caffeine. I was at complete peace, until Delly found me and told me about Katniss' sudden walkout. Turns out we both have hiding places.

"I love you and that is exactly why you can not leave me again. Yesterday was so bad, Peeta. I had to joke about things I don't think either of us finds very funny. Katniss so hates me now."

"She does not hate you. Just the people that don't know any of the truth, but still have their mouths open. If it'll make you feel better, I'll let her know what you're doing is just trying to survive. I was kind of going to have lunch with her, but if you can't get through it alone…"

"How do you kind of have lunch with someone?"

"She invited me yesterday and I kind of agreed. But we made some things clear, so I think one more day at the usual table won't do much damage."

"No way, you're sitting with her. Then I can be a double agent." Delly smiles again with a hint of mischief and I laugh.

"You sure you can do this?" I ask.

"Yes, Peeta, I think I can handle myself. The real question, though, is can you. Remember that Katniss has a very important part in the trial, so don't scare her off by kissing her… or something." Moments like this I regret that Delly is the first and only person I've told about the crush I've had on Katniss forever. (emphasis on the told, as dad and Rye managed to find out on their own).

Forever started on the first day of school. She had on a red plaid dress and her hair was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed her out when we were waiting to line up. He said, "See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner." And I said, "A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?" "Because when he sings . . . even the birds stop to listen." So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Katniss' hand shot right up in the air. The teacher stood her up on a stool and had her sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent. Right when her song ended, I knew — just like her mother — I was a goner. Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to her. Without success.

"Do we know each other? If I felt such a sudden urge that I just couldn't handle, I think I would've done it by now."

"So you don't want to kiss her?" I groan. This is going exactly where I don't want it to go.

"Of course I want to kiss her! But there are so many things that come before that." It bothers me how many of my interactions with Katniss wouldn't have happened at all it wasn't for my mother. All I can do is take advantage of her stubbornness, or whatever is driving her, to win this and hope that we remain at least acquaintances after my mother is out of the picture.

"You take care of these things, I'm going to chat to Ewald today. Since he's so interested in the case, he might know something we don't from his father," Delly says, surprisingly bold.

"I wouldn't be surprised if even the judge doesn't know what happens now. This must've taken him by surprise."

"Yes, you are certainly making history."

My first two classes go agonizingly slow. The group of friends I used to be in must've come to some kind of mutual agreement about me, judging from the empty seats besides me. It's way easier to avoid someone when they're doing it too. Katniss and I would know.

I've never minded being alone, especially after never having that at home with two brothers constantly bugging me and mother always coming at me. However it's easy to get used to the noise around you at school too. I know I still have Delly, but I had a few other friends that weren't bad people either. Not everyone is Ewald, but surely everyone would take his side, the judge's son's side.

The first class was Math and I forced myself to pay attention, because the last thing I need is failing grades. Going to Science, I was hoping to get at least a glimpse of Katniss but, to my disappointment, she was nowhere in sight.

Wanting to get over with the next class too, I've given up on seeing her before lunch, so when the bell rings, I hurry through the hallway and almost pass right by her, accidentaly this time. I can tell she had seen me from afar, while all I got to register is her frown. She must be thinking I'm back to pretending I don't know who she is. Panicking, I grab her wrist, before she can get too far. Noticing that Gale's with her, I let go. I know he saw us when we were leaving school yesterday and he didn't seem very bothered or surprised, but some of Haymitch's words still bother me, though they're not a surprise. New boyfriend. I haven't seen Katniss hanging with any other male, so it must be Gale he was talking about. Of course.

"Almost didn't see you. Hi," I say, hoping I'm not smiling too widely, but when Katniss gives me a sheepish smile of her own, I know I must be.

"Hi." She looks back to Gale for a second, probably to try and introduce him to me, but he's busy talking to two guys by the lockers. She takes a deep breath, then releases it and I'm left to wonder if it's a sigh from relief or this is causing her pain.

"I'll see you at lunch?" I offer, trying to make it easier on her.

She nods quickly. "Just one more period."

I smile again, relieved she hasn't changed her mind and I've been looking forward to nothing. "Okay. See you, Katniss."

"See you." Her body turns towards Gale, but her eyes stay trained on mine as I walk away.

In English, when the teacher finds out no one has done their reading (or so she thinks, as I didn't raise my hand to not draw attention to myself), we are assigned to read right now the first couple of chapters of a sappy romance novel, sent straight from the Capitol. I read them yesterday before my nap, so I am now free to pretend I'm doing so, while in reality I'm scribbling on a piece of paper hidden inside my book.

I don't fully realize my drawing is more than scribbles before I start working on the shade that falls across the bench from the oak tree. I've drawn Katniss' hiding place.

Around 10 minutes before the class' end, the teacher asks a few questions. The silence that comes after most of them is too annoying even for me, so I end up raising my hand, despite the immediate attention that settles on me and never really leaves before the bell saves me. After I tuck the drawing between the pages of my book, I collect my stuff and leave the classroom.

Even with my lunch bag with me and not in my locker at the opposite end of the cafeteria, it takes me forever to get inside. Have there always been this many people at school or are the odds just never in my favor? Unconsciously, my gaze shifts to the crowd I usually sit with, but they're all ignoring me, just like they have for the entire day. Delly locks eyes with me before quickly turning to Ewald again. When I get to Katniss and Madge's table, they are, of course, already there.

Thanks to my observations, I know they usually sit across each other on the round table, but today they're next to one another, their bags left on the chairs beside them, leaving only one empty. Madge's the first to notice me, while Katniss is focused on buttoning her coat. And just yesterday she was ready to spend lunch outside.

"Hi, Peeta," Madge greets me with a smile, all good manners and all. She doesn't comment on the fact that their lunch conditions have changed for the first time in a while, possibly ever, and that I am the one intruding. I'm somewhat relieved that at least one of Katniss' friends likes me, but still wait for her grey eyes to lock with my blue ones before I sit down.

They already have their lunches out. Madge has a bowl of soup, Katniss - a madehome meat sandwich. I can only guess whose are the items placed in the middle of the table. The box of crackers must belong to the mayor's daughter who can get Capitol supplies whenever and the plate of apples must have come from a certain someone that spends their free time in the woods.

I must have been eyeing them for awhile, because Katniss says, "You can have one. I brought three, one for each of us. We always share."

I flush and for one terryfing second think about how my cheek would be red for another reason if my mom ever catches me staring so rudely. Shaking my head, not allowing the dark thoughts in at least for as long as there is daylight, I take my own lunch out too.

"Maybe later, thank you. I actually brought something too, but it's probably more appropriate for dessert."

"is it cheese buns?" Katniss asks with a raised eyebrow, but I can tell she's trying to contain her excitment.

"Actually… no." I curse myself for not waking up earlier. "Most of the orders for the deliveries Bannock and dad did today were just bread. I guess they didn't have time to experiment and I was still asleep. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Katniss almost scolds me. "It's fine."

"Right. Sorry." She rolls her eyes, while Madge just laughs softly. I place on the table the two cupcakes I grabbed in the last moment, but still very much with the intention of giving one to each of the girls.

"They're from the last batch from the bakery, but still good, I hope," I say, looking at Katniss.

"Chocolate cupcakes. I've never had one of those," she says, not taking her eyes off them until I push one towards her and the other towards Madge.

"Well, let's change that."

Both me and Madge leave our other activites to see Katniss take her first bite. She does, with an unsure smile that widens after she swallows.

"It's different than normal chocolate."

"Good different?" I ask.

"Good different," she confirms, leaving the rest of the cupcake aside. "Too good. I need to finish my sandwich first."

Madge, noticing all I've got in front of me is a piece of bread with some ham, stops before she's even had her own first bite.

"Oh, wait. I can't have it if it was supposed to be for you. You obviously brought two so you and Katniss can share them," Madge tells me hastily, putting the cupcake down.

"I was expecting for you to be here, Madge. If I wasn't, I would've brought just one. Actually, perhaps two wouldn't have been a bad idea, since Katniss likes them so much." This seems to make Madge relax in her seat, but Katniss fidget nervously and I laugh. My laugh is even sincerer at the scowl on her face.

"You sure?" Madge asks, fidgeting with the wrapper.

"Absolutely. Personally, I'm more of a cinnamon guy."

With a relaxed smile, Madge finally takes her bite. She doesn't comment before she's done chewing, of course.

"Don't tell this to our chef at home, but these are way better than his. Actually, pretty much everything from the bakery is better than his," she says, smiling sadly. "I miss that place already." There's my cue.

"I have good news, then." Suddenly nervous they'd think I'm using them and this is some kind of a sham, I clear my throat before I continue. "As I said earlier, we're willing to do deliveries. As dangerous as it is, I think we won't get in trouble if we keep it between a few costumers. There's no other option with how fast our savings are disappearing. I don't think Bannock's even paid you yet," I say, turning to Katniss. That's the part that bothers me the most – Katniss suffering from our situation. Considering I would be the one suffering if it wasn't for her, that's the last thing that I want.

"Oh! That's good… I think. I'll ask at home and let you know, but I'm already sure no one would mind. Some days my mom gets out of bed just for a piece of cake." The more Madge talks, the quieter her voice gets. It just hit me that I've never seen her mother, but I don't want to pry.

"The paycheck can wait, you sort your things out," Katniss says, done with her sandwich and now focusing on her cupcake.

"Katniss, I can't-"

"I have an idea." For sweet, good-mannered Madge to interrupt me, it must be a pretty good idea.

"Katniss, you just asked me for help with your investigating, right? But it can never happen because of my dad. What if you hire Peeta and instead of paying him, he works for the money the Mellarks owe you?"

Both of us seem to be thinking this through for a moment. A chance to be in Katniss' company even more often? My heart screams yes, but my head disagrees.

"I don't know the first thing about spying."

"It's not just spying," Katniss suddenly says. "There's a lot of paperwork too, but what I'm looking for is someone to take photos for me. I'm terrible." With my background in painting, that doesn't sound so difficult.

"I guess I can do that."

"Good. I really wasn't looking forward to holding auditions or something," Katniss says, wrinkling her nose and I laugh, relieved. "You free after school? There are some things we have to discuss about your case, too."

"Yeah, I'm free. Bannock's place hardly an option, though. We barely fit as it is." It's my turn to fidget nervously.

"My house is okay… if you're okay with that." My eyes widen. I haven't even dreamed of going to the Everdeens' house. Okay, maybe just a couple of times.

"Sure."

So the odds can be in my favor too.


	6. All the right places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of child abuse.

I’ve interacted more with Primrose Everdeen in a 10-minute car ride than I have with her sister since I’ve known her. They’re so unlike, both in looks and personalities, that it’s hard to believe they’re related. For a second I wish Katniss was more like Prim and imagine how easier it would be for us to get closer, but I quickly I realize how wrong that is. Part of what attracts me to Katniss is the very reason she shies away.

 

“Alright, Prim, get inside before you ask Peeta to finish it for you,” Katniss says as we’re getting out of the car. One of the first things her sister asked me about was whether I am the one that used to decorate the cakes in the bakery. My confirmation opened the door to a whole conversation. She asked me for advice on the painting she was working on in art class and I gladly gave it to her, with Katniss listening, amused. It was quite obvious the little girl had no one to talk with at home about those things. “And check if mom ate something this morning.” Prim nods and hurries inside the small house. I don’t have time to ask where we’re going before Katniss starts taking the stairs that lead to the second floor.

 

“Your mom alright?” I have a feeling the reason we’re getting upstairs this way is because there’s something she doesn’t want me to see. And I haven’t seen Mrs. Everdeen in years, now that I think about it.

 

“Is yours?” Katniss snaps so abruptly that I almost fall down the stairs, but manage to grab the banister in the last moment. On top she’s breathing heavily, the key in her hand and not yet in the lock. Is she waiting for an answer? I don’t have one.

 

“I’m sorry, that was… sorry. It’s a sensitive subject, but… you just wanted to know. My mom’s okay,” she says softly and unlocks the door. Walks in, throws her bag to the floor, motions for me to step in too.

 

I expected a living room, maybe a bedroom. There are crumbled sheets on the couch, but this room is definitely used for something more complex. The unkempt desk with the laptop, the wall above the couch with papers and notes stuck to a wooden board, the camera on the small coffee table all say so.

 

“This is my office,” Katniss confirms my suspicions. “Well, my dad’s office. At least it used to be.” She clears her throat and goes to move the sheets from the couch. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t usually sleep here, but I was too tired to move yesterday after doing research.”

 

“Right, because the couch is the biggest mess in this room.” She gapes at me, crumbling the sheets even more in her fists. “I’m just kidding.” She throws them in my face and I laugh, ignoring the way my heart flutters when I realize how much they smell like her. A week ago I would dream of knowing the way that Katniss Everdeen smells, so this is pretty much… well, a dream. Even when she’s staring at me in annoyance.

 

“Just put them on the floor by the door, I’ll take them downstairs later,” she says, taking pity on me as I wonder what to do now. When I turn, she’s seated on the couch with her laptop on the coffee table. I stand awkwardly on the other side.

 

“Just come sit, okay?” Katniss tells me, her voice soft besides the roll of her eyes. “Like the mess or not, you are going to be spending some time here if you want to work with me.”

 

“I do,” I reassure her hastily, not wanting her to get the wrong assumptions because of my sudden uncomfortableness. I know it’s just Katniss, but it’s just… Katniss.

 

“So I know moms aren’t your favorite subject either, but we are going to have to talk about what Haymitch advised. The trial can be any day now and…”

 

“It’s on the 20th of December.” Katniss raises her eyebrow and I explain. “Delly talked to Ewald today.” We had class together after lunch and she told me it wasn’t very hard to get the information she needed from him, as it was his favorite subject. Rye might be a good wrestler, but he obviously can’t fight well enough to shut that boy’s mouth.

 

“Delly?” Katniss surprises me by asking. I expected her to start forming a plan immediately or something that suits her more.

 

“Delly Cartwright. Her family owns the shoe shop. I think you have Math together…”

 

“I know who Delly is. What I didn’t know was that she knows… all of this,” Katniss says, her fingers playing with her braid.

 

“Not all of this. She’s my best friend… my only friend right now. I have my brothers, I know, but it’s not the same. Delly actually listens.” Why are we talking about this right now?

 

“Right.” Katniss clears her throat, looking away to some papers she has in her lap, obviously ready to change the subject, but I remember something.

 

“I could’ve just sat with Delly today at lunch, you know.”

 

“Why does that sound like a threat?” Katniss asks, annoyed again.

 

“It’s not! I loved talking to you and Madge today. I just mean that it was Delly’s choice to remain at the usual table,” I plead with her to understand, but she’s not in the same boat as me.

 

“Well, good for her. I’m sure she had a good laugh… behind your back, by the way. Literally.”

 

“Gah, you’re so…” I trail off, scared she’ll take it for something bad again. “The jokes and the laughing are just a way to survive. I don’t like all of the sudden attention on my family, but I’ve come to accept it. People are scared to see how it will affect things in the entire district so they’re just trying to predict the winning side and sink the other.”

 

“So what? I’m supposed to just accept that and keep in mind it doesn’t mean anything even when they’re doing their best to make it seem so? That’s a lousy excuse and you know it.” There’s so much fire in her eyes I’m slightly scared she’ll throw me out. “No matter where you end up having to live, Peeta, this isn’t going to be the last time I’m in the middle. Now, I hate pitying myself even more than others pitying me, but it’s true. I don’t care why people do it. I don’t want to listen to any justifications. It’s just the way things are and I’ve come to accept that, so don’t mess with it… okay?”

 

I should’ve seen this coming… except I honestly did not. The tabs I’ve kept on her through the years might help me tell you that she prefers to sit in the row closest to the window in a classroom and that even if she had all of the money in the world she wouldn’t buy anything they sell in the cafeteria, judging by the disgusted looks she sends to the few who do. These are just things anyone who has the desire to can notice, though, and the truth is I do not know Katniss Everdeen, just like I didn’t know how affected she really is by people’s attitudes towards her. I’ve always imagined her as this strong, unshaken by anything and anyone that comes her way, person… and she is, just not always. That’s what makes you human, isn’t it? I’ve learned to put on a strong face in front of my mother, too, but just yesterday I was sobbing in Katniss’ car. Damn it.

 

“Okay,” I finally respond after a long moment of me staring at Katniss and her staring at her lap. “I’m sorry if it came out like I was defending anyone but Delly. She’s on our side and she’s been for a long time. So yeah, I trust her enough to tell her some stuff, because she’s the combination of a smart girl and a good friend. She’s admired you for a while, too. Even has had the bravery to state so at the lunch table. Took a few calls to me, sobbing that the girls in the locker room stole her clothes or dumped them in the toilet to get her to shut up.”

 

“I remember that,” Katniss says, quieter than me even though she’s in her own home. “I was there once, probably the first time, because she was so baffled. I didn’t see whoever took her clothes in action, but I could tell from the snickers… unlike Delly, who just assumed someone mistook her clothes for theirs or she put them in the wrong locker. Then she saw some girl from town, I don’t know her name, leaving the room with her backpack open, on purpose of course, looking straight at Delly. The moment she noticed her clothes inside, Delly started shaking her head and wailing.” I feel the rage from 2 years ago awake in me again. I never got the full story.

 

“I felt bad, but the bigger part of me was curious how did one of the most loved girls in the school end up in a situation like that. Taking it as unnecessary drama, I finished getting dressed… A good idea, since you burst in not a minute later.” A minute? I hate my timing. “Still surprised you didn’t get sent to the principal for that.”

 

“I’ve thought about this and, you know, if it was Rye, with his reputation, he probably wouldn’t have had the same luck. Everyone knew I wasn’t in the girls’ room to get in trouble.”

 

“I don’t know, giving Delly your clothes was kind of scandalous,” Katniss retorts with a smirk. “Shooting everyone death glances was definitely troublesome.”

 

“Eh, that’s not exactly the kind of trouble I’m talking about.” She stiffens immediately and I almost regret it, but then I notice the slight smirk still remaining.

 

“Tell Delly she’s welcome any time to sit with us,” Katniss says and I smile, content.

 

“She’ll be happy to hear that. I don’t think she’ll take that offer soon, though. Neither of us are afraid anymore, but she did get us the information we needed, right?”

 

“She did,” Katniss says with a nod. “Which brings us back to the trial…” She hands me the papers she’s been busying her hands with ever since we sat down. “I printed a list of things we can add to the accusations our- I mean your side is going to present against your mother. Your father is going to add more, too, I assume, but I think what will really bring her down is… you.” She swallows hard before continuing. “So you can check those who apply and then we’ll discuss them to get you prepared. Haymitch will do the same with your father and brothers, if they want to testify.”

 

“You’re stuck with me?” I ask, looking up at her with an uncertain smile.

 

“I, um, kind of… It’s what we agreed to, right? I help you out. The only difference is you have a lawyer now and yes, it is his job to talk you through this, but there’s not much time and… Haymitch and I both thought it’d be easier for you to talk with me about this first instead of to him, who you’ve just met, and then to a stranger with curious eyes, who can judge if he wants because it’s his job to judge.”

She’s rambling, but I’m too touched to stop her from embarrassing herself further. There’s nothing embarrassing to find in what she’s done for me and what she keeps doing for me, but that’s not how she’d take it. Every time we get closer, someone takes a step back, more often than not that’s her. I don’t care right now, I’m too busy trying my hardest not to embarrass myself by closing what’s left of the distance between us. Delly was right, once again.

 

“I’ll let you check these out.” Katniss nods towards the papers, standing up. “You hungry?” I shake my head. “Just tea, then.” She grabs the sheets by the door before exiting the room.

 

I take a few deep breaths, not knowing what to expect. I hope I don’t have a breakdown like yesterday. Not for my mother, not in front of Katniss, not again.

 

Some of the things listed actually kind of make me laugh. Obviously taken from a site hosted by the Capitol, there are complains that seem absurd and crazy, but somewhat enlightening to the life the multicolored citizens we see on TV have there – something I’ve always been curious about, stuck here in district 12. It stops being so funny around the time I pass “stealing makeup”. There’s nothing funny in the things that do apply. Before I check the box that’s for yes, there’s always a second where I consider whether I really want to do that – put myself through having to discuss it. With Katniss, of all people. But I know it’s time to stop hiding. Unfortunately, this time it’ll be me taking a step back, or rather, forcing her to take one. Surely she won’t look at me the same way ever again.

 

I don’t have time to consider erasing at least some of the most painful to make check marks before she’s back, carrying a tray. She leaves it on the table and I put the papers next to it.

 

“Something to warm us up,” Katniss says, taking her seat next to me. She’s changed her clothes, I notice, taking in her huge gray sweatshirt that reaches her knees and black leggings. She uses her too long sleeves to grab a cup, filled with steaming hot tea. “The fireplace doesn’t quite reach the second floor. I don’t know how I didn’t freeze to death last night. I hate winter.”

 

“I can’t do it now because I share a room with Rye and it drives him nuts, but I usually sleep with the window open. Even in winter,” I say, ready to take a sip from my own cup but Katniss pokes me, causing me to spill some of the tea.

 

“You’re crazy! And I was just about to offer you a blanket…” She continues muttering under her breath, changing positions so that she’s sitting on her legs, obviously to try and get warmer. I keep my mouth shut and just smile at her cuteness.

I force myself to hand her the papers, even if it means ruining the moment. She takes them and quickly reads through the first page. “Alright, most of these are things your father has suffered, I believe. You might be asked if you’ve ever been a witness, if you suspected cheating, so we must have a discussion with Haymitch before-” She stops mid-sentence and I know her attention has been caught by something on the second page. Not like either of us didn’t know this was coming, but we still hold our breaths.

 

So which kind of abuse is it?

 

“Psychological abuse,” Katniss reads. “This refers to you?” she asks cautiously and I wish she’d drop it, because it’s clear her words are not the one bothering me.

 

“Me, my dad, my brothers, you, the entire population of the district… I’ll talk just about me for now, because I don’t know how the others feel about that.”

“Okay, Peeta. When did that start?” She says my name like it’s something precious; that in contrast sounds pathetic.

 

“It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment, because it’s been so long. It might’ve been going on for even longer than that, without me seeing it as what it was. The first time I knew she wasn’t supposed to be talking to me like that, though, was when I was… 5, maybe 6. Bannock was the only kid considered good enough of a baker by her standards then, so Rye and I were always stuck washing up after everyone. I actually enjoyed it, even if at the end of the day my hands were soggy and there was barely anything left of my nails, because dad would sometimes award me by letting me frost a cookie or two. When my mother wasn’t looking, of course. I always noticed that detail. It was on a day that my father had promised me I’d get to help with a cake after I’m done with the free trays, that my mother lost her temper. I might’ve been a little too giddy, hurrying to get the job done faster and I might’ve put down a tray that still had some crumbs in the corner. I still regret that, to this day.” It’s in that moment that I feel Katniss’ hand on my own. I can see that she wants to say something, but won’t until I’m finished so I focus on her fingers drawing invisible circles and continue.

 

“It was the end of the world for my 5-year-old self when she told me I’ll never become a baker if I can’t wash properly a few things. My crying only encouraged her. I couldn’t, I didn’t want to believe what she was telling me. That big boys don’t cry. Boys don’t cry. Automatically that made me an even bigger failure. She wanted a girl, I know that. Hell, I understand it. But I didn’t then. I just kept on scrubbing the same tray over and over, her voice still haunting me. I don’t know when she left, it might’ve been minutes, it might’ve been hours. Her voice never did.”

 

If it was, for an example, Delly that I’ve told this story to, she’d be crying by now. There are no tears in Katniss’ eyes. Fire beats water.

 

“That’s good. Bad for Ellesse.” I can’t help but notice that this is the first time she’s used my mother’s name. “Blaming you for turning out to be a boy, something you can’t possibly do anything about, is harsh. Meaning, you should bring it up more. The judge would probably ask, anyway.” I cringe at the idea. “I know,” she surprises me by saying. “I promise you’ll never have to talk on this subject unwillingly ever again.”

 

“It’s kind of nice to talk to you about this, actually…” I say under my nose.

 

“I won’t lie and say it’s nice to hear it, but I’m glad you feel that way.” She leans back against the cushion, taking my hand with her, forcing me to get closer.

 

I continue to tell her other tales of my dark past; her hand never leaving mine, her eyes never leaving mine, even when I look away, having trouble getting something out, worried about her reaction. We’ve unconsciously moved to the topic of the other abuse I’ve suffered, which she knows about thanks to that rainy day I saved her life. I wonder if she knows she’s saving mine.

 

“It started with a hand on my shoulder. The first time I came home from school with news about my very first grade. We were sitting around the table, having dinner. Dad, who picked me and my brothers up, already knew so he mentioned it. I could tell it bothered her that I hadn’t told her, so of course she assumed I was hiding something bad. Didn’t say anything about it, though. Not until I spilled the beans that I got a B, instead of an A, like Bannock and even Rye did. So she lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. It hurts more than a scraped knee and more than a burnt on the oven hand, but I say nothing, remembering our conversation by the sink. Boys don’t cry. I don’t even remember how I got the “bad” grade, but she said we’ll work on it. When we’re done eating, she orders everyone but me to go clean up. I’m surprised, even a little excited to see what my mom has prepared for me. I remember Rye getting a new backpack this very day a year earlier. All I get is a slap across the face.”

 

By this point we’re almost laying next to each other. So professional.

 

“Peeta?” Katniss asks. I’ve closed my eyes for a moment.

 

“Yes?” I ask, opening my eyes and almost falling off the couch when I notice how close her face has gotten. I remember when this happened at her hiding place, she turned away immediately. I don’t. I need her now, for completely selfish reasons. I allow myself to be selfish just this once.

 

“I have to ask.” I can see she’s afraid to. What can be scarier than what we’ve just discusses for hours? “Why didn’t your father do anything? Not just that one time. Ever.” This is the one thing that’s been nagging me, too. I’ve left it aside ever since he filed for divorce, but I can’t pretend there weren’t times my dad would listen to my cries of anguish and do nothing.

 

“I don’t know,” I say simply.

 

“He’s going to have to know. They will ask that. It’s possible even Caroline will be the one to, if that’s the route they take.”

 

“Mention it to Haymitch, then. I don’t think I can handle that.” I need at least one person in whose love for me I can be absolutely certain. Despite everything, my father has always taken that role and if that changes or if I learn it’s never been real… that’s when I might lose it.

 

“I think you’ve done enough talking for one day… or a lifetime,” Katniss says, but doesn’t move to stand up and doesn’t look like she wants me to either, so I don’t. “By the way, you can take the camera home with you, to try it out. It’s kind of old, but it does the trick, as long as you’re not me.” I agree. Her words kind of sounded like a goodbye, but, still, neither of us moves. I’m growing kind of uncertain so I’m thankful when she speaks.

 

“Want more tea?”

 

“If it’s not a bother,” I reply.

 

“You’re not a bother,” she says, her voice insistent, but her eyes shining with mirth as she steps over me to retrieve the tray.

 

This couch is much more comfortable than the floor at Bannock’s. It’s easier to focus on that now that I don’t have to be constantly occupied with self-control, having Katniss that close to me. I barely register the door closing, snuggling close to the place she used to occupy.

 

The last thought on my mind before I drift off is how the sheets she tossed me smelled the exact same way. Pines and wet moss.


	7. Treasures of battle

A+

 

I don’t give myself much time to celebrate my good grade in Biology, because Peeta is right behind me, meaning he’s the next one to receive his exam… except he’s currently lying on his desk, face down.

 

I turn and quickly shake him. Not like that’s not totally obvious and not like the teacher hasn’t already seen him. This is far from the first time. Peeta’s gotten a habit to fall asleep in weird places. My couch happens to be another example.

 

About two weeks ago, he came over to discuss the trial. When I returned from refilling our cups with tea and trying to think of a reason to delay his leaving, I found him sleeping on the couch soundly, on his stomach and one hand almost touching the floor. Without putting much thought in it, I opened the window slightly. (When Prim saw it later she called me crazy, much like I had done to Peeta. We are related, after all.) After watching him for a while, wondering what the hell to do now, since I knew I couldn’t bring myself to wake him up, I went downstairs again. Hours passed. It was while I was taking a bath that he left. Prim said he woke up while she was in the room to look for dishes needing to be washed that I might’ve brought upstairs. She looked worried as she told me how, after noticing the late hour, he slipped that his mother would kill him. Then quickly ran off with a muttered goodbye.

 

“A. What’d you get?” I ask, turning backwards after the teacher has passed our row.

 

“B+,” Peeta says, handing me the paper. I take a quick look. I almost laugh at one of his mistakes. Not to make fun of him, but at the irony.

 

“That’s not dandelion, it’s yellow hawkweed. It’s not easy to tell them apart just by appearance, but a dandelion produces only one flower per stalk,” I explain, pointing to the image.

 

“I knew that was too easy.” He says with a sleepy smile and I allow myself a laugh. “You’re too good at this stuff. Sadly, that knowledge won’t earn you anything in this district.” My entire face flushes not only at the compliment, but because I know something he doesn’t. That knowledge won’t earn me money since we’re not in district 11, but it is what saved my life. I still remember the taste of bread and dandelions like I had them for breakfast. I don’t say anything, but Peeta doesn’t find it suspicious, after weeks of sitting together at lunch where the conversation is mostly between him and Madge.

 

“I never thanked you,” Peeta states after awhile and I look up, not following. “Thanks for helping me out with some of the questions.”

 

I shrug, “This is the only subject I don’t despise and find completely irrelevant, so it was my pleasure.” His face takes on a thoughtful expression and I can’t help but grin at his sleepy eyes. 

 

“It is all irrelevant, isn’t it? The grades, too. I’m glad I got a B and you an A, but it wouldn’t have made any difference if they were Fs. Especially with my mother not learning about it.” He leans forward to rest his chin on his forearms. Just remembering the story of how that woman slapped a 6-year-old boy for getting the exact same grade he has today makes me flinch.

 

“Hey now, that’s not a reason to give up studying at all. I’m not helping you again, you know,” I threaten, even though I’m not so sure how much of my immunity to Peeta Mellark I have left anymore.

 

We scowl at each other until the bell rings. Peeta's scowl is overdone and I suspect he might be mocking mine. While I’m putting my stuff in my bag, the teacher wishes us a good winter break and reminds us to watch the program the Capitol will show in honor of New Year’s. When I turn back around and see that Peeta’s left me behind, I think he might actually be mad at me. Really scowling, I leave the room. When I see him leaning against the wall, I roll my eyes, hoping my smile’s not too obvious.

 

“What? You thought I left you?” He questions, as we begin our walk to the parking lot. “Aw, Katniss, I would never… you are my ride,” he says after a pause.

 

"Yes, I am. I'm also nice enough to drive you to Haymitch again instead of letting you walk miles, possibly in the wrong direction."

 

Today is the 19th of December. We're meeting Bannock and Mr. Mellark at the drunkard's house to go over everything one last time, since it's forbidden to discuss anything with each other at court tomorrow. I don't know his family well, but with Rye's bad reputation I'm getting the vibe he might be the one to get us in trouble. It surely won't be Bannock, the golden boy and the person that organized this whole thing in the first place. Many people have their wrong opinions about me too, though, so I try my best not to judge. At least not before I hear what they plan to bring against Ellesse.

 

"Tell me when you think of a way to repay you for your sacrifice." A chill runs through me, though it doesn’t lower my body temperature. If anything, the opposite happens. As long as Peeta is unaware, it’s welcome. It hasn't really stopped snowing since the weekend of the week that he slept at my house. That reminds me...

 

After we're situated in my car and are waiting for Rye to show up, I bring myself to ask, "Peeta, are you sleeping okay?"

 

He rubs a hand over his tired face, "That obvious?"

 

"It kind of became when you fell into deep sleep not after 5 minutes of laying down on a surface." It's his turn to blush.

 

"Yeah, sorry about that." I shake my head, because that wasn't where I was going. "I miss my house, as ridiculous as that is. I never really felt safe there, but it's what I'm used to. The cold floor at Bannock's can hardly compare even to the misery I used to live in." My heart clenches involuntarily. I'm about to do something I might regret.

 

"Can my couch compare?"

 

Peeta snorts, as if the answer is obvious. If it's so obvious, why is my heart beating so fast in anticipation? "That was probably the best sleep I've gotten ever."

 

"You're going to need an even better one for tomorrow," I say, using my professional voice. "If the judge doesn't come to a decision by the end of the day, we might not be able to leave."

 

"I'm already nervous so I honestly doubt I'll be getting any sleep today, Kat." I note his use of a nickname and I can tell he does too by the way he tenses up, but I don't comment on it, not sure how I feel.

 

“If you want, you can come over,” I propose cautiously.

 

“Why? Can’t we go over everything final at Haymitch’s?” he asks, his mind somewhere else.

 

“To sleep, idiot,” I say, exasperated.

I watch the emotions wash over his face. Confusion, realization, surprise, something I can’t name and then back to confusion.

“I know it’s not your home and you said you missed it, I get that, but I’m sure even a small couch, no matter where, will do you better for one night.” I feel the need to explain myself.

 

“That’s really nice of you, but, like I said, I can’t even imagine falling asleep.”

 

“It wasn’t so hard to imagine in class, was it?”

 

“Well, class is boring. Believe it or not, you’re interesting to me.” I feel warm again. “That’s not quite the reason I meant, though. Tomorrow is so important, I know myself and I know I won’t be able to calm down enough to go to sleep.”

 

“Tomorrow is important. Tomorrow. Not today. You’re not helping anyone by putting yourself through this, Peeta. It’s proper to show up at court in your best shape.” 

 

After a moment, Peeta looks at me and sighs like he’s giving in to something. “I’ll ask my dad, but I’m sure he won’t mind.” I’m taking that as an assent.

 

“I didn’t even think about that,” I confess. “It is probably best to stay with your family.”

 

“Katniss, I’m sick of my family,” he says as his own confession, with a sad laugh. Rye chooses that exact moment to enter the car and make himself comfortable on the backseat.

 

I turn on the car, while Peeta turns around to greet his brother. He might be overdoing it a little, judging from the look Rye gives him that I see in the mirror.

 

"Whatever. Let’s hurry the hell up, so I can be free earlier." Does he really have more interesting things to do? That is so foreign to me. Even if I had more friends, I would still prefer to spend my free time doing something productive that can help my family in some way. As we pull out of the parking lot, I spot a group of blonde girls with their arms linked, giggling, as they make their way to town, probably to go visit shops from which they can never afford what they really want.

 

The ride to Victors’ Village is quiet. I don’t know why the brothers aren’t communicating. I, personally, have nothing to say to Rye and with his presence feel weird to do so to Peeta.

 

When we arrive at Haymitch’s, everyone else is already there. Mr. Mellark, gotten comfortable in the house after weeks of daily visits to his lawyer, is sitting at the kitchen’s table, reading something. He greets us and so does Bannock from his place on the couch. I suspect the honey brown haired girl cuddled close to him is his wife. Even 8 months pregnant, she goes to stand up when she sees me, but I stop her with a hand which I then extend for her to shake. She does with a smile, “I’m Elsa.”

 

“Katniss,” I say shyly. Good thing my job doesn’t involve much interaction with people. Ha.

 

For the first time I’m grateful for Rye, who I’ve lost track of, when he enters the room, dragging Haymitch by his sleeve. He really doesn’t want to waste his time here. Honestly I’m leaving as soon as possible too, wanting to do some hunting so Prim and my mother have enough food no matter how long I’m in court. I need to remind Gale, too, and I have to be home by the time Peeta decides to come.

 

The first hour goes great, as Haymitch makes all of the witnesses recite. You’d think it sound monotone after so many weeks of repeating it over and over, but they’re all so driven by the desire to bring that woman down that I begin to feel really confident about their victory.

 

It doesn’t last long. In fact, I feel all of our confidences crumble down when Rye throws his sheet of paper in the fireplace.

 

“This isn’t going to work,” he says with finality in his voice. Anyone can tell it’s something he’s been keeping in for a long time. I don’t even blink, but Peeta immediately tenses next to me. To comfort him, but also to try and keep him from doing something stupid, I place a hand on his knee. He’s not impulsive like me, but no one likes change in plans, especially in the last minute.

 

“Nobody is going to buy this crap,” Rye states confidently.

 

“It’s the truth,” Peeta forces out.

 

“How do you see me sharing my inner terrors in front of the whole district? For what? For that bitch?” He turns his back to us, not even waiting for an answer. The deep breaths he’s trying to take remind me of Peeta right before he broke down in my car. He’s not about to cry, though. He’s just panicking, which is even worse.

 

“It’s just one time. Can’t you do that?” Peeta asks, trying to hide his irritation. I remember my promise to him to never have to go through this again. He must’ve remembered it too.

 

“I really don’t think so, Peet,” Rye says sadly, turning around. “I’m so-“, but Peeta’s already out of the room, out of the house.

 

Rye’s decision isn’t a big step back, compared to the number of witnesses left. The problem is how far back it will take them. I look around the room. Haymitch, like me, doesn’t seem very surprised, though he does have his hand placed on his forehead, deep in thought. I’m disappointed to see Mr. Mellark’s face. It’s like he regrets ever starting this. It reminds me of how scared I felt for Peeta’s reaction about his mother’s lover. Elsa seems to be the most collected. That’s a big deal, since she’s also comforting Bannock, running her hand up and down his back.

 

Doubting Peeta’s return and even more his desire to go to Bannock’s today, I let his dad know he’ll be staying over. I try to be subtle, but he still looks shocked. A little mad at each member of the Mellark family (except Peeta but some days it’s hard to remember he’s even a part), I don’t back down until he agrees. After making Haymitch promise me he’ll make sure everyone, no matter how small the number, is on the same opinion by tomorrow, and a wave to Elsa, I leave.

 

It’s not hard to find Peeta. He’s just beside my car, observing a bush of flowers.

 

“Petunias?” he asks me.

 

I wrinkle my nose, “I’m pretty sure those are some artificial hybrids sent from the Capitol.”

 

Peeta laughs loudly, no sign of the bitter boy that ran out, and there’s only one time I’ve been more thankful for my knowledge of plants.  
Even with Peeta’s appearance at my house earlier than usual, I get to do all of the things I planned. I should’ve expected this to happen the moment I mentioned it to him. He insists to watch over Prim and prepare whatever he can with the small amount of ingredients we have. He even tells me he’ll pay me back for using them the same way we agreed he’ll do for Bannock’s debt. I almost slap him for that.

 

I come home with two squirrels, a rabbit and a half full basket of berries. It’s winter, but there have been warm Sundays I’ve come home with less, but I didn’t trade today and I can be really good when my sister’s survival is at stake.

 

I’m surprised to find my mother has come out from her room and is now chatting quietly with Peeta, while Prim scribbles on a piece of paper on the table next to them. I knew there were only so many times I could avoid their meeting, especially with Peeta starting to work with me. I could see that they might meet during his sleepover, too. I just didn’t expect it to be initiated by her.

 

Peeta welcomes me with a smile and I smile back, quickly ruffling Prim’s hair, but then quickly get to work preparing a stew. It’s dark outside already and what’s the point of the sleepover if he goes to bed late?

 

My smile is even more genuine at the bread on the kitchen counter. My mother comes to help me cook and raises an eyebrow at my expression, one corner of her mouth lifted. I ignore her, cleaning my game. She sighs, taking out a pot.

 

I’m thankful that while we eat, there is no mention of the trial. The only time it comes close to that is when I remind my family I’ll be gone tomorrow, possibly the entire day. I can tell Prim wants to beg, as she’s already tried a few times in the past few weeks, to come with me, but won’t. Not with Peeta at the table. 

 

I watch as Peeta dips a piece of bread in his stew and takes a bite. Curious, I reach for the bread to grab a slice of my own and try it. My hand freezes mid-air. It’s filled with raisins and nuts.

 

"I want you to tell them about the bread."

 

The sudden memory of his words makes a chill run down my spine, much like remembering that rainy day often does. This is Peeta’s way of reminding me. He needn’t had to. I haven’t forgotten, though I have tried to avoid it.

 

The last thing Peeta needs is someone else giving up on him. If I had an out before, I don’t now.

 

While mom washes the dishes and Prim gets ready for bed, Peeta and I go to find him the necessary covers and pillows.

 

"I know you slept on the couch upstairs last time, but you can choose between it and the one in here," I let him know, as we enter the living room.

 

"Where’s your room?" asks Peeta.

 

"Uhm, right behind the stairs…," I say quizzically.

 

"This couch is fine." He smiles at me and starts arranging the sheets.

 

I leave him the pillows and go upstairs, promising to be back with more comfortable clothes. It hits me, as I’m pulling my long tunic over my head, that I don’t actually have anything to give to a boy. With a sigh, I open again the small wardrobe where I keep my clothes in the office so Prim can have the one downstairs for herself.

 

In the lowest drawer are the few belongings of dad we didn’t have to sell. I pull out a soft green shirt and black sweatpants. I used to wear them for a long period of time after his death, even though they were too big for a 12-year-old girl. They both provided comfort and also spared me some money, as therefore I didn’t have to buy clothes for myself. Now they smell more like me than like him.

Peeta doesn’t seem to mind, in fact he looks a little amazed, as I hand him the clothes, abashedly. The color in my cheeks only intensifies as I realize Peeta is pulling his sweater over his head and I’m still in the room. I hurry towards the kitchen, but not before I hear him say, “Oh, I don’t care if you see me.”

 

“I care, all right?” I call back, closing the door without a look back.

 

My mother is still here, putting the glasses back in the cupboard.

 

"Something I can help with?" I ask her. My voice sounds weird to my own ears. I’m still not used to this actually being a two-way conversation. I still anticipate her answer.

 

"You’ve helped so much already, Katniss," she says, certain emotion in her voice I don’t dare call motherly. "You did a good thing, helping Peeta."

 

"We understand each other very well when it comes to mothers… mother." I’d rather watch Peeta get naked, no matter how uncomfortable it’d be, than have this conversation less than 12 hours before trying to get rid of his mother.

 

"Katniss, I…"

 

"I don’t want to hear it," I hiss. Her abandonment, much like people’s behaviour towards me, is something I don’t want any false justifications for.

 

I’m not as relieved as I thought I’d be when I return to the room and find Peeta, fully clothed, sitting on the floor with Prim, who has the ugliest cat ever in her lap.

 

"I thought I told you to go to bed and that I’d be right there," I scold her gently, not really mad.

 

"Buttercup wouldn’t stop scratching on the door. He likes Peeta," she exclaims with a giggle, putting the furry creature on Peeta’s legs. If it as much as grazes dad’s clothes, it’s sleeping in the snow.

 

I let them play for some time, so Peeta can distract himself and Prim can enjoy having somebody else in the house. I’ve been so caught up in the trial and doing the last hunting for the year, that we haven’t had the chance to invite the Hawthornes over for weeks.

 

I busy myself with tidying up the room, occasionally sneaking a glance of Peeta deceiving the stupid cat with a ball of yarn or Prim rolling on her stomach in a fit of laughter.

 

I pick up the book Peeta must’ve forgotten on the small table beside the couch after reading it while I was out. It’s the one we’re studying in English. Wrinkling my nose in displeasure, I drop it on top of his bag. It slides down and a sheet of paper escapes between the pages. I kneel to retrieve it and place the bookmore firmly in place. My knees give out when I see what the paper represents.

 

It’s a drawing. Not completely finished and uncolored, but still a drawing. Of my place. The old bench, the school building behind it, the tree. They’re all there.

 

Having heard the both thumps on the ground from the book and myself, my sister and Peeta are done with games and staring at me. Well, Prim is. Peeta’s gaze is focused on what’s in my hands.

 

"I should head to bed," she announces, aware of the tension in the room. "Goodnight." Taking Buttercup in her arms and shooting a hesitant smile at Peeta, she gets up to leave. But Prim’s not the only that wants to get rid of the uneasiness. The easiest way to do that is to just hit the pillow (preferably just figuratively).

 

"I’m going to go too. It’s been a long day, tomorrow’s going to be even longer." Giving up on the stupid book, I just leave it along with the painting where I found them. "You know where the bathroom is. The toothpaste is on the sink. Good night," I blurt everything out swiftly, following my sister.

 

As we close the door and get comfortable on the bed, I can tell she wants to say something. The unrest in this room isn’t much lighter. Before I can even ask her anything, though, she’s closed her eyes. Way to leave me hanging, sister.

 

I toss and turn, hitting my head against the pillow. I can’t believe I acted like that to my guest. To Peeta. Just because I’m not sure how the things he does sometimes make me feel and I don’t know if I want to be.

 

After what seems like hours, I settle on the fact that what he did was nice. Friendly. I’m sure that he painted a lot of things for Prim today. It’s what he does and it doesn’t make me special. I misinterpreted his look when he saw me with the sheet in my hands. It was just surprise that I went through his things.

 

I need to say something tonight, right now. Otherwise I won’t get any sleep and look and feel awful tomorrrow. Quietly, to not disturb Prim, I get up. I’ve let my hair out of my braid. After all of the rolling around I did, I probably look like Buttercup, who hisses at me from the foot of the bed, but I don’t have time or anything to do about it.

 

I almost throw a fit when I see that the couch is empty, before I spot his figure on the floor by the fireplace. I’ve been as quiet as possible (and that is a lot), in case he was sleeping, so he jumps when he hears my voice, “Were you cold?”

 

"No, just couldn’t sleep… as guessed," Peeta says, as I settle down next to him.

 

"Something I can do?" I ask, my voice barely heard over the crackling of the wood.

 

"I’m alright."

 

"I think we have some milk in the fridge—" I continue, but he interrupts me, saying he doesn’t need anything. I keep on insisting, determined to make this night better. We argue, speaking over each other, before I put an end to it by saying loudly, but not loud enough to wake up my family, "I’m sorry!"

 

He looks at me, perplexed, the firelight making his blue eyes a weird orange.

 

"I’m sorry I made things awkward…"

 

"You didn’t do anything," he interrupts me more gently this time, as if to keep me from embarrassing myself further. "I’m not going to tell you I drew your place, because I had nothing else to. Well, it drew itself, really. I guess it’s buried in my subconsciousness. But I’m not some stalker either…"

 

I stop him with a soft laugh, “I never thought that. I just got a little scared after seeing it drawn like that. Nobody’s supposed to know what that place means to me… that painting looked like it was drawn by somebody who had a pretty good idea.” That’s the closest to the truth, most perfected explanation I can give right now.

 

Peeta looks down to collect his thoughts. “I was never going to show that to anyone. I promise. I didn’t know what was going to happen to it. Maybe I would’ve given it to you, after it was fully finished. Definitely not today.”

 

I smile behind my hair at the idea of me in his future.

 

“No matter what happens tomorrow, remember, your job’s not done,” I tease. I managed to convince him his debt could wait until the trial’s end. The truth is I have to get back to work as soon as possible. We both have families to take care of. In the districts, who doesn’t?

 

“How could I forget?” He smiles softly. “Stop worrying and go back to bed.”

 

"I can’t turn my mind off." Now that I know we’re okay, all I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course.

 

“Try.”

 

“No.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"Show it to me."

 

"Excuse me?"

 

Flushing, I hit him lightly on the arm. "The painting. I want to see it again!"

 

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." My fist meets his shoulder as we get up and move to the couch.

 

"Like I said, it's not done...," he reminds me as he opens the book.

 

I focus all of the attention on the sheet in my hands and this time take a really good look at it. I don't have an artist's eye like Peeta, who by the looks of it can remember every sight, but I know this place by heart. No, it's not done, but everything that is, is perfect. I tell Peeta so.

 

"Maybe... maybe you could paint what's seen from there. It has a really good view of the woods. It's why I like it so much, really." I imagine what a done painting could like like, bigger and colored, and my heart flutters happily.

 

Peeta grins as if the idea alone brings him pleasure. He sure loves painting. "That can be arranged. Maybe after the snow melts." I nod. I miss the real colors of the forest. Today it looked like a graveyard.

 

After a couple more minutes of staring at it, I reach to put the sheet back in place, but Peeta stops me, "Keep it. I can make another one. In fact, I will and then I'll give it to you too."

 

"Peeta..." That's all I manage to get out. I do want to take it, but I feel like I've already taken too much.

 

"Keep it. It's not like I'm saving your life." No, not this time.

 

I put it back on the table, where I plan to take it from to move it to my room later. Later. Why not now, after I've said what I needed to say?

 

"You should be getting some sleep, Katniss. Got to look proper at court, remember?" Peeta says, mirroring my thoughts.

 

"Are you going to sleep?"

 

"No."

 

"Then we won't sleep together. I'm not leaving you alone with your thoughts and I've gone without sleep for way longer," I tell him confidently, wrapping my arms around my knees. With a sigh, he mirrors my position, leaning the side of his head on the couch.

 

I study his posture. He looks more restless and anxious than tired.

 

"What are your thoughts?" Peeta considers my question for a minute, probably wondering if he should answer it at all. We both know it's doubtful I'll like what I hear.

 

"I don’t know how to say it exactly." Not a good sign. "When we come out of that courtroom, I want to still be me. I don't want to change in there. If my mother loses, everything will change. Everyone will know the truth no matter what, but then will immediately be back on my side. Who am I then? Some sad victim?” He scoffs at the idea. “And if she wins... I don't want her to suddenly own me. Literally she won't, because her sons aren't a part of her plan, but figuratively... Whatever game she's playing, I don't want to be a piece."

 

His words give me a whole new perspective. Will the friends that have abandoned him really dare to come back if Mr. Mellark gets the bakery? I had imagined the opposite might happen – if the witch wins, it’d be like nothing ever changed to those not close to the case. Therefore they have no reason to ignore him. Some will pity Peeta, that’s for sure and I don’t think either of us is a fan of that. 

 

Peeta's been trying to find a way to keep himself, no matter how good or bad the things I've been worrying about turn out. This has it's positive and negative side. I don't want anyone doing stupid things tomorrow, but I also don't want him to crumble down at the end.

 

“I’ve also been thinking about Rye…,” he continues with a sigh. “When I ran out today, it wasn’t just because of disappointment. I was upset at him, I am, but there’s also a part of me that finds his words to be true.” I begin to protest, but Peeta shushes me. “I’m still going to do what I have to do. I’m still in this 100%. I’m just starting to wonder if at the end it’ll mean something. All of the pain and humiliation to say a few things and keep our mother away from what should never be hers. I’d be lying if I said I don’t entirely care about other people’s opinions. Still, that’s not what bothers me the most. Ripping old wounds open’s got to have some side effects, Kat.”

 

It does. That’s why I reacted the way I did when my mother tried to apologize today – something I’ve been awaiting for a while, yet something I’m not sure I can handle the aftermath of. That’s not the first time I’ve ran like that.

 

“Are you anxious about Ellesse’s reaction?” I ask him and he nods. “Haymitch is ready if she and Caroline try to spin things.”

 

“If she makes a joke out of it, I don’t know what I’m…” he trails off, running his fingers through his already messy hair frustratingly. “I have to put everything out there for the judge to examine and for her to do whatever she wants with it. How am I supposed to do that?”

 

"With all of the negativity you can find in yourself directed towards that woman," I tell him sternly. "And a lot of courage." I take a deep breath. I even close my eyes for a second. I don’t care about Peeta’s gaze on me, I need this moment. Here goes nothing…

 

"I know I’m going to talk about it tomorrow, but I want you to hear the unedited version first." Like when he told me stories of his abuse, though this is done for completely different reasons. Peeta seems to get my drift, though he probably has no idea why I chose this day of all days to mention the unmentionable. I started confidently, but now I’ve lost all of my words. He notices and places a hand on my knee. It does nothing but make me feel even more out of my skin.

 

"That was both the best and the worst day in my life. When my father was killed, it wasn’t rainbows either, but the realization still hadn’t come then. It really hit me when I had nothing to come home with to my…" I struggle. "This is hard!" I exclaim, just to get it out before it finds it’s place inside my head and makes me keep this in for even longer.

 

I only half register Peeta gently pulling me down to lay beside him, the same way we did once on a different couch.

 

"I was ready to die. Your mother was telling me to go do so, just not in her backyard. Then you showed up." Before I know what I’m doing, my hand finds his cheek. I trail my fingers up and down more than a couple of times, trying to get rid of a no longer visible bruise. Peeta looks shocked, like he can’t believe I’m willingly touching him. It hurts more than I’d ever be able to admit this way.

 

"It wasn’t just the bread that kept me alive. It was you and not just with the act of throwing it. You reminded me what hope is… long enough for me to get a hold of myself and try to make my still alive, though barely breathing, family to do so too. My mother… I’m sorry I tried to hide her away from you, there’s not much reason to anymore, but I still remember when there was. Things are better now, because of you."

 

"Katniss, you’re the one who has a good job and who spends all of her time not working, hunting. I haven’t done anything," Peeta argues, grabbing my hand in his.

 

"Yes, you have," I assure him with a laugh, already feeling lighter. "You just don’t know it, because I’ve never told you," I say, guilt-ridden.

 

I tell him the entire story. How by the time I reached home, the loaves had cooled somewhat, but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them on the table, Prim’s hands reached to tear off a chunk, but I made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and poured warm tea. I scraped off the black stuff and sliced the bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice.

 

"The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.”

 

“We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod, smiling faintly at the memory of our discussion in Biology. I won’t tell him what dandelions symbolize for me. It’s not hard to guess if you know when they bloom.

 

“After school, Prim and I went to the meadow and filled a bucket with dandelion greens, stems, and flowers. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread.” In the dim light, Peeta’s happy smile shines.

 

"It was never the same after that. I found my place in the woods. Then I gained enough of myself back and stopped being too afraid to do something about my father’s murder." My eyes must be shining too. With spite.

 

"You’re digging into that?" Peeta asks, forehead wrinkled in worry.

 

"I really don’t want to talk about that right now. Not tonight."

 

"Okay," he whispers. "Thanks for everything you did talk about. I just hope it wasn’t said with all of the negativity you can find in yourself directed towards me."

 

"Well, it certainly was with a lot of courage," I tease back. In all seriousness, I hope what I just went through wasn’t for nothing and he remembers bravery is more often than not awarded.

 

"I really don’t hate you, Peeta Mellark," I decide to say, to assure him, but to also keep the mood lifted.

 

"I really don’t hate you either, Katniss Everdeen." I know he doesn’t.

 

It’s become a habit to point out our firsts. Like the first time we touched, it was like signal bells rang in my head. When I rested my head on his shoulder to remind him he’s not alone, my first attempt at comfort. The day he first came over, so many different firsts happened. I move closer and wrap my arms around his neck. The bells sound like sirens as I feel myself trapped to the couch cushion by his strong hold.

 

I smile at the thought of the clothes that used to smell like my dad, then like me, smelling like Peeta. I breathe in the cinnamon he likes so much, even more than chocolate. Sleep doesn’t seem so impossible right now.

 

"Peeta…," I murmur after a moment.

 

"Mm?" his lips move against my hair.

 

"I would really love some milk right now." I feel his chest vibrate with laughter and then slowly pull away from me.

 

"I’ll go check if there’s any." I hadn’t expected him to. I probably should’ve. It’s Peeta. A smile ghosts my lips as I watch him walk away. When he’s out of my sight, I burrow my head in the pillow.

 

I slip into a dream about cupcakes.


	8. I'll believe when the storm is through

The moment my eyes open, I curse myself for falling asleep late last night. Falling asleep? I was not supposed to fall asleep!

 

Despite my grumpiness and the ache in my muscles, I jump off the couch. Not only did I go to sleep without making sure Peeta did so first, I chose the place that was supposed to be his. What a great hostess I am. The floor at Bannock’s at the very least is always guaranteed.

 

I realize the reason for my wakening is voices. I recognize Prim’s and Peeta’s, but the other female one is strange to my ears. As I get closer to where they come from - the kitchen, it gets clearer. It takes a carefree laugh for me to piece it together. Delly Cartwright.

 

I can’t show up the way I look right now, a pathetic mess with wild hair, wrinkled clothes and still smelling of the woods. Once I’m in the bathroom, I fill the tub with warm water. The moment I step in, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is the most relaxed I’ll be today and that’s a sad fact. As much as I want to remain here until the water gets cold, I don’t have the time nor can I leave Prim to deal with my guests. I hurriedly wash my body and hair, before stepping out into the cold again.

 

The fire has died out. Shivering in my thin robe, I run to my bedroom. I’m surprised to find my mother there. I was wondering where she is, but assumed she was either silent in the kitchen or, more likely, having a bad day.

 

She has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes. I’m thankful, because I wasn’t lying when I told Peeta that your appearance at court is important. I can’t show up in my father’s jacket and muddy boots.

 

“Are you sure?” I ask. I’m trying to get past rejecting offers of help from her – me letting her help with dinner last night is another example. For a while, I was so angry, I wouldn’t allow her to do anything for me. And this is something special. Her clothes from her past are very precious to her.

 

“Of course. Let’s put your hair up, too,” she says. I let her towel-dry it and braid it up on my head. I can hardly recognize myself in the cracked mirror that leans against the wall.

 

“You look beautiful,” I hear Prim say as she comes in.

 

“And nothing like myself,” I respond. I hug her, because I don’t know for how long we’d be separated. It could be just a few hours and I’d still worry.

 

“I wish you’d allow me to come with you,” she murmurs.

 

I pull away with a sigh. “You won’t miss out on anything, Prim. The courtroom probably hasn’t seen the light of the day in years. It’ll be boring for you. Wouldn’t you rather hang out with the Hawthornes?”

 

She looks hesitant, but finally manages a nod. I smile, tugging on her braids playfully. “Good, we don’t want them to come all the way here for nothing.” Right, because they don’t live 2 minutes away. “Expect them around noon. If I don’t come back by curfew, Gale’s going to stay the night. You’ll make him feel comfortable, right?” I don’t care that my mother’s in the room. She should know I haven’t forgotten her blackouts. How I’m still afraid of leaving her daughter with her.

 

“I will,” Prim says with another nod. “Don’t worry about me, Katniss. Do what you have to do.”

 

I gape at her. The circumstances she’s had to live in have made her stronger than a 12-year-old should ever be. Her tough, unshakable expression reminds me of my own, as I opened the door to my father’s office for the first time with different intentions on my mind than usual. I swear that she’ll never have to do what I had to, what I still have to. It reminds me how important victory today is.

 

With a parting kiss on her forehead, I leave my bedroom. A quick look at the clock tells me we have to leave now. I remind myself I’m in my own home and have no reason to be nervous, as I make my way to the kitchen.

 

The conversation between Peeta and Delly stops the second I enter. Before I can suspect anything, he’s quick to turn his attention to me.

 

“Good morning.” I mumble it back, barely allowing my eyes to focus on either of them for too long. I do notice they’re both in formal clothes – Delly in a light purple dress and Peeta in a white shirt with grey slacks I get a better look at as he stands up, going to the counter.

 

“Delly brought me clothes,” he confirms my suspicions. I watch as he takes something out of a plastic bag and places it on a plate. “And food.” It’s when he leaves the plate in front of an empty chair and looks at me that I realize who the cookies are intended for.

 

I sit down, because Peeta’s looking at me like I have no choice in this situation… and because I’m really hungry. Who knows when I’ll get to eat again today? Cookies? Most likely never.

 

“She didn’t have to,” I say in a low voice.

 

“It was the least I could do,” Delly responds immediately. “Even if I didn’t want to, Mr. Mellark insisted. I got myself into it by going to look for Peeta. There was no getting out, trust me,” she laughs nervously and I manage a weak smile. I’m thankful to the man, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at little gestures like this as anything else but charity. It’s especially hard since we’re in my own house.

 

“Milk?” asks Peeta, making me feel even worse, as he acts out like the host I’m supposed to be. It reminds me of last night, when he went to look for the same beverage while I cozily lay on the couch. I shake my head at his suggestion, munching on a frosted cookie. It resembles some kind of made up flower and I know it’s not made by Peeta’s hands. I should show him the most beautiful real flowers to paint, I fleetingly think, shocking myself. When exactly would that happen? After we put on a show in front of half the district or before we solve crime to survive?

 

“I should get going. I overstayed my visit already, plus my friends will be waiting for me,” Delly announces, standing.

 

“You’re not going with us?” Peeta needs all the support he can get. Especially from his best friend… or whatever she is to him.

 

“There are people who could get confused by her choice. She can’t be having lunch with Ewald one day and entering court with his opponent the next, you know?” What I know is that it’s ridiculous they’re considered opponents. Saddening, really. Ewald is just the judge’s son, after all. His dislike towards the Mellark men better not affect the outcome.

 

“How many people are coming exactly?” I ask suspiciously. The less, the better.

 

“I managed to convince a few it’s not worth it, but at least half of mine and previously Peeta’s group are relentless. I’m sure Mrs. Mellark has invited as many as she can, too,” Delly says sadly. Of course the witch would want the attention. I wonder who her witnesses are.

 

Peeta seems to lose his previous enthusiasm at the mention of his mother. Before I can even finish my cookie and do something, Delly beats me to the punch, as she wraps her arms around him. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m sure the bigger part are putting out an act, too.” I grit my teeth, putting down my last cookie as I watch her pet his cheek, much like I had done just a few hours ago. Who knew this was the way to make me lose my appetite?

 

“I’ll see you there, Peet. Good luck,” she says finally. “You too, Katniss.”

 

“Yeah, you too.” What did I just wish her good luck with? Getting even closer to Peeta? Like that’s possible right now.

 

I should probably get up and walk her to the door, but I don’t. It’s not like that’s going to change my unfailing bad reputation as a hostess and I don’t particularly care. I’m sure she can find her way around the small house. Except she has Peeta for that, of course, as he walks her out of the room.

 

More upset at myself than anyone else, I get up from the table angrily, almost knocking down the chair in the process. I put the leftover cookie on the counter, where I hope Prim will find it. As I’m filling myself a glass of milk, having decided I want one after all, I hear Peeta’s loud footsteps and the opening, followed by the closing of the door. He doesn’t fully step in though, or say anything. Not until I’ve gulped down the contents of the glass, washed it and put it back in the cupboard.

 

"You’re pretty," I hear, along with a couple of footsteps in my direction.

 

I’m the one standing rigid now, my back to him, hands clutching the counter like a lifeline. He just told a girl that is definitely not his girlfriend, hence the knotty dark hair and old-fashioned dress, she’s pretty. Not that she looks pretty, that she is pretty. How is she supposed to answer that? Like a normal human being, Katniss.

 

"Thank you," a voice that sounds even more pathetic than my usual one responds, as I face him at last. I want to return the compliment somehow, but the words escape me. Besides, I’m sure Delly has already made sure he knows how handsome he always looks, so why would my opinion matter?

 

“I know we have to go, but before we do…,” he begins, unshaken. “Whether you’re willing to admit it or not, during the past month I’ve gotten to know you quite well. I’ve noticed you’ve got the tendency to take the blame for a lot of things you couldn’t have helped. So I just need you to know that even if we lose today, it’s not your fault and you did all you could, probably way more than you should’ve done. The last thing I want is for you to blame yourself.”

 

That is my plan and I like that plan. “If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened. You would still have enough money, you wouldn’t be missing your home, your friends wouldn’t be ignoring you…”

 

“Was that really such a great way to live? With the weight of my mother on my shoulders, I think no.” He steps closer. “If you do, okay. It’s still not all your fault. Bannock was the one that got you the job. My dad was the one to file for a divorce. My friends made their own decision.”

 

I could’ve done so much more, I want to tell him. Instead I sigh in defeat. I blame my lack of response for the lack of time.

 

“We can’t discuss this now, Peeta. It’s too late.” I move to go put on my coat.

 

He grabs my wrist, gently, but with purpose, “Promise me.” You won’t blame yourself.

 

“I promise you it won’t come down to that.” Anything else but victory is unthinkable. I brush past him, going to the small hallway. I’m putting on my second glove when he finally reappears.

 

The silence is thick as we make our way to the Justice Building. I can’t tell if he’s doing it because of my earlier comment or from nerves. His gaze remains ahead, not turning to me even once, and would suggest the first assumption. But I notice his sunken shoulders. The way his hands shake, despite being numb from the cold.

 

I would take his hand in mine, but enough people are staring as it is. Some are walking ahead of us, others are following, speaking behind our backs, but they all know where we’re going.

 

Peeta and I are both surprised when, as we climb the steps, we notice Rye pacing in front of the door. When he notices us, he sighs in relief, even puts a hand on Peeta’s shoulder. “I thought you weren’t going to show-“

 

“Why?” Peeta interrupts him. “Because of what you did yesterday?” He scoffs. “I know better than to get influenced by you.”

 

His hand finds mine, our fingers naturally linking. I don’t have time to consider if this is such a good idea or turn around to face the people that the uproar around has gotten even louder, before he’s pulling me inside. Rye shoots me a concerned look, but follows us. Despite everything, no matter what he does and does not do today, I’m glad he’s here.

 

There might’ve been a dozen people just by the building, but for now the ones inside are just a few. Merchants, of course. They all surround Ellesse, like her own personal Peacekeepers. I can’t see her lawyer, whom I’m more interested in, but I do have a pretty good look at Peeta’s mother. The few times I’ve been unfortunate to be in her company, she’s always worn either baggy clothes that you’d wear around the house or ones obviously intended for work, fully covered in flour and other ingredients. It’s weird to see her in a long black dress. She’s even wearing heels. Spending a long amount of time here isn’t in her plans. We’ll see about that.

 

We must have not been accepted in the courtroom yet. I can see Haymitch and the rest of Peeta’s family in the other corner of the lobby. I pull him in their direction, breaking the spell between him and Ellesse that started the moment their eyes locked. It’s a bad spell.

 

Bannock is barely holding Elsa up. The woman should be in bed, preparing to give birth to a baby, instead of witnessing this madness. Everything ends today, I remind myself. Hopefully. Peeta gives her a bear hug, his other hand still in mine. I can feel Haymitch’s intrigued, yet amused gaze on us, but I don’t look back, choosing instead to thank Mr. Mellark for the cookies.

 

Not long after that, a woman, too cheery for her occupation, comes to inform us the judge will see us now. Effie Trinket (obviously not born in district 12) shows us our seats. She reminds us countless times that we can’t leave the room during the trial without informing her first, unless it’s time for a break. Even if it’s our turn to speak up, we must await her sign before standing up. When she’s satisfied with our understanding, she moves on to repeat the same to the people on Ellesse’s row.

 

I can see her lawyer now. Caroline Campbell. Dark blonde hair in a long ponytail down her back, snake like eyes. Lawyer clothes – navy skirt with a suit jacket on top of a white blouse. I must’ve been trying to read her eyes for too long, because they suddenly lock on mine. I quickly look away, turning around for a moment.

 

From our place at the first bench, I can see the others beginning to fill. The row behind Ellesse is almost full. I spot some olive-skinned familiar curious faces, but they don’t outnumber the blondes. Behind us, I see Delly and surprisingly, but not much, Madge. I’m spellbound by the pretty pin on her white dress.


	9. What you made of me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta's POV

I severely dislike being anxious. It makes my usually eloquent and swift words come out rushed and not well-thought out even if in reality they’ve spent way too much time locked away in my mind.

 

I’m really anxious right now. Of course my way with talking would fail me the one day I need it the most. 

 

Katniss’ grip on my hand has other advantages, as she pulls me to my feet when we’re asked by the chipper woman to stand up. The judge is about to come in. It serves as a reminder that after all the anticipation, this is really happening.

 

There’s a part of me that’s glad it’s beginning, since it means the end is getting closer simultaneously. I got this way of thinking from my mother. I didn’t inherit it; like many other things, it was forced on me. Sometimes a slap on the cheek can hurt less than the wait for it, knowing it’s coming but not when. Watching her circle me around, before her temper gets the best of her, many times because of something I’ve said to make it finally do so. I have a temper, too.

 

There’s a part of me that’s thrilled to be here. Despite what happened yesterday with Rye, I am confident in my father, in Bannock, in Katniss. Katniss. When I confined in her about my hesitance to share all these things facing strangers, she amazed me. She did something equally fearsome for her – opening up to me. Sometimes it’s easier to say things in front of an entire crowd than in front of a particular person.

 

The part of me that wants nothing more than to get up and leave overshadows everything else. Even the thought of Katniss’ bravery, both yesterday and today, going to waste can’t help the anxiety from creeping up. Not with my mother just a few meters from me. They’re both sitting on the farthest ends at the separate benches. Katniss is the only thing concealing me from her. She is also the one that anchors me to my seat the moment we’re told we may sit down, her thumb stroking the top of my hand over and over again. We haven’t let go of each other since we walked in and I’d be delirious, if I weren’t so desperately dependant on our hold. It saddens me how anything that happens between us is always clouded by the darkness of the situation.

 

I’m pulled back in the moment, as I notice Haymitch standing up from his seat. It is beginning.

 

“Good morning, Your Honor. I’m Haymitch Abernathy. I represent Barton Mellark,” he begins, taking his place in front of us, facing the judge. “Ever since they got married when they were 18, he and Ellesse, the woman he wishes to divorce, have been living together in the living quarters above the inherited by Barton‘s family bakery. My client has three children from Ellesse – Bannock, Rye and Peeta. They may not be what we are fighting for today, but they still play a very important part. We are fighting for their safety and best living conditions. Your home is not just a house, the same way your mother is not just someone who gave birth to you. These boys lost the true meaning of one of these words a long time ago. I’m here to prove they don’t deserve to lose the other.” 

 

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a tad worried about the drunkard’s abilities. Right from the moment I saw the condition of his house, I was expecting him to fail us at one point or another. Throughout the past few weeks, he has continued to prove the opposite. That doesn’t mean seeing the finale result; the opening statement he has taken the time to prepare, doesn’t strike me.

 

“As the witnesses will confirm, Ellesse hasn’t had much of a reputation as a mother to her children. Though she has never physically left them, she has allowed herself other physical actions. She has never taken responsibility for them, hasn’t considered what’s right under her nose to make work at the bakery, she so wants now, easier. Have you heard the cry of sorrow around the district, Your Honor? People are starving, not having anywhere to buy a decent loaf of bread. She wouldn’t provide that place for them; she would take it in an even more final way.” He’s nearing dangerous territory by bringing up the poverty of 12. I no longer wonder who’s taken over his body. That sounds more like Haymitch. “We have a witness who’s witnessed the woman’s cruelty firsthand.” Katniss. I squeeze her hand, willing the comfort she’s provided me to transfer right back to her. Her tiny, calloused fingers squeeze even tighter. My strong, brave Katniss.

 

“We do not plan to use it against her, but I find it worth mentioning. The final step leading to this divorce was the confirmation that she has another man in her life. While Mr. Mellark tried his best to raise his sons in the best enviroment possible, their mother gave her attention to another. The man’s probably more familiar to her love than her own children are.” I suspect the reason Haymitch chose to talk about this, even briefly, is to throw my mother and her support off their feet. It worked. As the crowd erupts for the first time, but more than likely not the last, I see my mother turn to her lawyer, who remains with a stoic expression, the only thing giving her discomposure away being a sigh that slips through her lips.

 

Haymitch has to take a moment to wait for everyone to calm down. I use the time to whisper “Is he here?” Both Katniss and Bannock, who’s on my other side, tense up. They know who I’m asking about. I have no idea how he looks or even what his name is. I never saw the pictures Katniss provided of my mother with her lover. Even if my brother hadn’t hid them, I wouldn’t have wished for them myself. Just the knowledge hurt enough.

 

“I haven’t seen him, but he might be in the back.” I trust Katniss’ words. My only acknowledgment of her response is a nod of my head. I don’t want to look at her and see her pitiful eyes.

 

“Nobody should feel unsafe in their home,” Haymitch continues immediately after the judge manages to shush the audience. “A divorce is guaranteed; with it the safety of the boys is too, since she doesn’t even want to fight for them. The district, however, would not suffer the same good fate. Not if Ellesse Mellark, soon Dunstan, has even a little to say about it.” He thanks the judge and, after his permission, returns to us.

 

My mother’s lawyer is quick to rise from her seat. That fact, along with her confident walk, give away how much more experienced she is. I have lost track of how many different parts of Panem she’s lived in and probably worked there, too. What a shame it’d be if her first loss happened in district 12 of all places.

 

“Good morning, Your Honor. I am Caroline Campbell and I am the attorney of Ellesse Mellark, soon to be Dunstan, as Mr. Abernathy so generously reminded.” My hand, the one that’s not holding Katniss’, is already balled into a fist and she hasn’t even brought up the real stuff. I can feel them coming, though. “You are going to hear a lot of things today. The bigger part of them will come from the other side of the room. Sometimes less is better and I’m here to prove that.” Whatever I expected, it wasn’t this.

 

“You will be told sad stories, intended to make you feel sorry. You will, just as every person in this room. I want every person to remember that I’m not defending a committed crime. There isn’t one.” I have found the cure for my anxiety. It’s easily replaced with resentment. “No, my client is not fighting for her children. Really, she’s doing them a favor. She has realized her mistakes and she’s been working on them and will continue to do so, no matter the outcome of this case. Perhaps in the future, when she’s in a better mental state, she will get them back.” I want to puke.

 

Of course. Her words don’t say too much, but don’t provoke many questions, either. Some will interpret that my mother has lost her mind; others will say it’s a midlife crisis. But they will all let it go. Sometimes less is better.

 

“If we do get into it, I don’t see how the father is the innocent one. Watching helplessly should be considered just as much as a crime.” No objections here. “The point, though, is that neither of the sides is a criminal. None of the accusations Mr. Abernathy presented are against the law.” I don’t have to check to know it’s true. All I need is the reminder of Katniss’ job. Why she has to do the things she does. There’s no one else to.

 

“The property is Ellesse’s just as much as it is Barton‘s. Did you know that when he first presented her the divorce papers, he had written it all as his own?” Did you know that she laughed in his face?, I want to scream. “There was a marriage. They both worked hard. She still is, having found a hopefully temporary job in a diner.” We have no defense, I realize. We can’t say we’ve been doing deliveries, because it’s illegal and will get us into a whole new kind of trouble.

 

“Her boss will testify how well she’s been doing, nothing like Mr. Abernathy described. She has the district’s best interest in her mind. If she didn’t, she would’ve just abandoned everything. Think about it – why would she even fight for a piece of property if she didn’t? She could always go live with her sister, who is here to confirm their good relationship.”

 

“Because she has to have everything, even if she doesn’t really want it, the manipulative bi-“ Katniss shushes me. It’s not because she doesn’t want anyone to hear; judging by the fire in her eyes it’s the exact opposite. She’s just trying to stop me from falling to an even lower level. Too late, I’m already sinking.

 

It’s probably not the best idea, but I ignore the rest of the statement. Katniss’ silky fingers serve as a perfect distraction. I take myself to a happier place – at my real home where I’ve left most of my paints. I imagine painting Katniss, starting with her fingers and continuing with all of the new little things I’ve learned about her, every detail. It would be my most realistic painting of her, as I’ve made up most of the things before, having no actual knowledge.

 

Caroline goes on for an exceptionally long time. Less is better? Then shut up. 

 

I can’t help but hear what I hope is her final lines, “Things are going to change no matter who gets the bakery. It’ll be for the better if it’s this woman. She’ll be able to hire more employees, make the place livelier. Ellesse is the healthy choice and she promises a healthier life for this district.” Ugh, she’s not running for president. The thought makes me cringe, but my mood lifts when Caroline is allowed to return to her seat.

 

The game really begins when the first witness is asked to speak. Effie escorts Bannock to the box, where he takes an oath that he will tell the truth. The questions at him come from everywhere. The ones with Haymitch, who seems unshaken by Caroline’s previous reminder that what we suffered through isn’t against the law, are well-practiced and go by fast.

 

Bannock tells a story from the time before I was born. He recalls a hot summer day in which he wanted to go out with his friends, but mom didn’t allow him. She didn’t explain why, didn’t even give him a job to do. It was just one of those things she does just to throw someone off their feet and remind them it’s she who’s in charge. Young, careless Bannock didn’t listen, of course. He was barely out of the door before she was dragging him home by his sweaty shirt, up the stairs and into the closet, where she locked him for hours in the unventilated air, until she really did have something for him to get done.

 

I use my free hand to take a hold of Elsa’s, who is trembling, but sweating at the same time, as if she is brought back to that day. It’s like she’s living vicariously through Bannock. It reminds me of Katniss’ reactions, while I told her my stories.

 

Bannock admits to Caroline that after that he didn’t suffer much in the hands of our mother. That, however, was because she found her next victim.

 

A lot of gazes are suddenly on Rye. Bannock’s, our parents’, Haymitch’s, Elsa’s, Katniss’. But not mine. I don’t expect anything from Rye. It looks like he is from me, hence the staring at my direction. He meant you, idiot, no matter how much you wish you aren’t a part of this family, you are.

 

His voice startles me and I’m forced to look at him, after hearing his words, “May I speak?” It could be his polite tone, or the fact that he spoke at all; either way, I’m caught off guard. Everyone else seems to be, too. Not Caroline, who looks like she was expecting this from the start.

 

“It’s our side’s turn for a witness. And we’re not even done with Bannock yet,” she says hurriedly.

 

“I’ve heard enough from the oldest kid,” the judge says dismissively. Effie takes this as her cue to switch Bannock’s and Rye’s places. I’m surprised at how easy it happens. Not only because it’s a drift from the rules, but because the judge allowed it. The same judge, whose son Rye attacked. He’s probably expecting something stupid to come out of my brother’s mouth that will teach us all a lesson and make me wish I didn’t secretly want for him to speak up. It’s not far from my expectations, either.

 

“Can I take the lead?” Caroline asks, the second after Rye swears to tell the truth. Both Haymitch and the judge let her go ahead.

 

“Alright, Rye. I want to know what distinguishes your statement from the one your older brother just made and the one your younger brother will,” she begins, pacing in front of him. The nervous action is making its first appearance. Rye has already managed to shatter the wall in front of her, the impassive expression, and he hasn’t even started really talking yet.

 

“Nothing you’d like to hear,” Rye responds with a shrug. There are snickers from the crowd, probably from his friends and girls that are next on the line waiting for him. I allow myself just a smirk.

 

“The brutality of my words is probably going to be what distinguishes me,” he says, locking eyes with Caroline’s disappointed ones.

 

“Are you implying your brother wasn’t honest?” she asks, making me roll my eyes. Of course that’s what she’d get at.

 

“No. I do feel like he saved up a few things. I don’t blame him; there is certain pressure in front of this audience.” He shouldn’t blame anyone, since less than 24 hours ago he gave up on everything out of fear from people’s reactions.

 

“I’m not going to tell stories to make you feel sorry for me. You’re right, it’s not going to get me anywhere and I’m not particularly fond of digging up old wounds. So I’m just going to give you the facts. That’s what’s going to make me different,” Rye says. Not knowing what to expect and scared of the unknown, I turn to Haymitch. He looks like he’s sorry he let Caroline be the first to talk with my brother… or maybe letting him talk at all.

 

“My mother did get bored of Bannock after awhile. After I was born, to be precise. Then she got bored of me and found Peeta. He had it the worst, because he was the third boy in a row. You can imagine how messy that can be in a merchant family.” Sad facts, but facts nevertheless. “If my parents had had another child, it would have been the next victim. Why? I don’t know. It’s just what happens, it’s what she does. You can’t change someone’s nature, the only thing you can do is stay the hell away from it if it’s poisonous. Done.”

 

“Has your mother ever showed you mercy?” Caroline questions him.

 

“The saddest fact is it doesn’t matter. None of the things I told you matter. I’m starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, Miss Campbell. Making me go ‘round in circles… You did say my mother’s abusive tendencies aren’t against the law. How about harming someone for life? A near-death experience?”

 

The courtroom finds itself in dead silence. Some are too shocked, others (the bigger part) just don’t know what to do, what to say. They really do not know.

 

“It is,” a shaky voice says suddenly from right beside me. Katniss. “Near-murder is against the law.” I’m sure there are people who are aware of that, like the judge and the attorneys present, but she elaborates anyway for those who don’t, “For an example, the only time you can stand up against Peacekeepers is if they take their punishment a little bit too seriously. Unless your sentence is death, they have no right to go over the maximum… which is just below what can kill you. Otherwise they are the one in trouble.” I’m sure she has many other examples, but this is the best one she could think of that doesn’t highlight her job. 

 

Rye takes the word, ignoring Caroline, who has her mouth open, but thankfully no words are coming out, “Thank you, Katniss.” He smiles at her and she fidgets nervously next to me, keeping her head down. It’s most likely not from my brother, but from all of the other eyes on her. Katniss doesn’t talk much and never in front of a public. People will probably gulp down their tongues when they hear the statement I hope she’s still making later.

 

“Huh,” says Rye. “A lot of things are starting to make sense now.” His wicked smile disappears as he continues with a more serious tone, “She told me not to say a word to anyone, you know. First and last time I’ve seen her scared.”

 

Haymitch stands up, nearing Caroline. No one cares about rules and regalement anymore. He’s probably doing the poor, dumbfounded woman a favor. “Would you like to let us in on that story, Rye?”

 

“I was very, very young. Basically a toddler, so I don’t remember much. My memory probably should be even more messed up, but that kind of a mishap is hard to forget,” he begins with a bitter laugh. “It was during the time my mother still did some of the work at the bakery. That day she was supposed to get some supplies and stuff from the train station.” I risk a glance at my mother, but don’t get a good look. Her hair falls like curtains, shielding her.

 

“It was a busy, summer day, so dad had to stay at the bakery with Bannock. There was no one to watch me, so mom was forced to take me and her pregnant belly all around the district. The part I remember most distinctively is the way back. She had both her hands full – one with goods, the other holding mine, as I struggled to keep up with her. But I couldn’t. I honestly couldn’t. I was barely walking, both from the fact that I had just learned to and because of how freaking hot it was. I begged her to stop; she yelled that if she does, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to start again. Okay, who can blame a pregnant woman?” Probably the nicest thing my mother’s done for me. Of course it happened before she got to meet me.

 

“I don’t know if I tripped on something or just got too tired to put one leg in front of the other, but at one point I just fell down on the ground. She didn’t care, just kept on walking. I was crying by that point, of course, so that grabbed the attention of a couple of people. She doesn’t like that, never has, so she turned around. I wish she hadn’t. She dropped everything on the ground, blamed me for it, like it was my plan all along. I got pulled upright, but not really right, by her strong grip. She was so anxious to get back home, too caught up in her angry muttering, that she didn’t notice how she was holding me. It wasn’t on purpose, but it still happened. I got my shoulder dislocated.”

 

I’ve never heard this story. Not when we practiced with Haymitch and certainly not before dad filed for a divorce. By the looks of it, this is also everyone on our bench’s first time. Caroline’s, too. Of course mother wouldn’t tell her. She was either too embarrassed or figured it wasn’t a big deal.

 

“I didn’t think it was possible, but I started crying even harder. I couldn’t keep my arm the right way and even slightly moving was a terrible idea. My mother noticed, but didn’t believe me. Thought I was pretending so we could stop, accused me of it. When she finally stopped and also probably realized she could get in trouble, she tried to pop it back into place herself. Judging by the immense pain, she made it worse. It wasn’t enough pain to keep me awake, so, already more than tired, I passed out.”

 

“What is the next thing you remember?” Haymitch asks him.

 

“I wasn’t outside anymore, it wasn’t as hot. We were in a house, but it wasn’t ours. A woman had brought me back to consciousness with some kind of strong smelling herb. The second her hand met my shoulder, the tears started again. My mother said she’d take care of me and I should stop being a baby, never mind that I was.”

 

“Did you recognize the woman?”

 

“No, I was a baby,” Rye deadpans. I have a pretty good idea who it was. Looking at Katniss, I don’t think she’s far from the conclusion either.

 

“She obviously knew what she was doing. Distracting me with words and games, I barely realized when my shoulder was back in place. She did say it was a good thing we came to her, because if my mother had continued with her failed attempts… I’d have more than just slightly damaged muscles around the shoulder forever. Or should I say less.”

 

The only mother trait I’ve seen her show is care about how Rye’s doing at wrestling. Does that make her feel better? To see that her son is healthy and capable? All for her.

 

“She knew she had crossed the line,” continues Rye. “She knew. She beat me so much afterward, you’d think she was trying to beat the memory out of me. When we came back to the bakery, we both pretended nothing had happened. But it had and I never forgot.” He looks to the left, making me do so too. Our mother seems to have gotten over the ignorance part has moved on to staring intently.

 

“No, mom, your biggest weakness is not your lack of humanity. It is how much of a sad excuse of a mother you are.” Ewald’s words, but about our father. Rye knows how to turn the tables in his favor.

 

“Tell me… is that against the law?”


	10. Say it to a crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss' POV

“I think we’ve tortured him enough,” Haymitch says after a long pause. He gave people enough time to grasp Rye’s story, every little detail, along with his intention. Ellesse Mellark’s actions were not only horrifying, but also a felony. Fact. What my mother did and has done many other times also is, but I have chosen to put all thoughts concerning her in the back of my mind for a while.

 

If the crowd doesn't riot in case Ellesse wins, I will be terribly disappointed of this District. Rye has lit a spark, now we just have to make sure it doesn’t burn out. Especially since it’s the other side’s turn to make a move.

 

They have two witnesses to make up for and their first pick is Ellesse’s sister. I have never seen Peeta’s aunt, nor has he mentioned her to me ever. I highly doubt she’s close to any member of the Mellark family, unlike she states proudly.

 

She plays the “it’s for the best” card, too. “The boys need a parent and the bakery needs a leader. Each of the opponents today is good at only one of those things.”

 

Both she and Ellesse’s boss, a Seam-looking man, who’s the next witness, talk about this job of hers. I connect the dots quickly in my head. I knew from the moment Caroline said “diner”, the story was made-up. It’s not hard to keep track of the few restaurants in 12. Sadly, I’ve been pretty up-to date with the gossip and I haven’t heard any mention of even a sighting of Ellesse. I can picture her lazing around at her lover’s place rather than even moving a finger to find a job. Also, someone from the Seam could never have a diner. The closest to that our people have is the Hob. It’s obvious this man has been paid to say what he has to and I don’t blame him. A meaningless oath isn’t a big deal if much-needed money is involved.

 

Then it’s our turn again. They don’t have any other witnesses, anyway, so we’ll have the judge’s attention until it’s time for Ellesse’s questioning. Panic sets in, making me clutch Peeta’s hand. I’m not ready.

 

Thankfully, Peeta isn’t the only one who notices. Elsa whispers something to Haymitch and just like that, mine and Peeta’s necks are saved at least for a few more minutes. After quickly gushing over Elsa’s round stomach, Effie escorts her to the box.

 

"I solemnly, sincerely and truly declare that I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," I hear for the umpteenth time today. Those words mean nothing, not in Panem.

 

“What is your connection to the Mellarks?” Haymitch asks, not because he doesn’t know, but because not everyone present does.

 

“I am Bannock’s wife and soon to be the mother of a Mellark myself.” A much, much better one at that.

 

“How would you describe your relationship with Ellesse?”

 

“We get along really well, actually. She has always treated me respectfully, but do not let that fool you. What little conversations we’ve had were always on the topic of Bannock moving out, our wedding, children…”

 

“Some might say she was just looking out for her son,” Haymitch says, mirth in his voice.

 

“Oh, no. She just wanted at least one of her “disappointing” kids out of her sight. Better gone with me, a merchant girl from a good family, than with someone she considers lower than her.” Someone from the Seam. I don’t like it when people address us like that, but it’s true and in this case it’s in our advantage, so all I do is swallow hard and keep my mouth shut.

 

“What does winning mean to you?”

 

“My life wouldn’t change a lot. Bannock and I have our own house and I’ll be too preoccupied with our child to notice whatever change happens in the district.” Of course she won’t mention the money problems I know they’re having. What she has under her sleeve is better. “I just don’t want my kid to grow up thinking his grandmother’s actions are excused. He will not be allowed near her and we will teach him what’s right and what’s wrong. But it would be a hell of a lot easier if she just packs her stuff and gets away from what’s not hers.” I smirk, impressed. Never underestimate a hormonal woman.

 

My smile disappears when shortly after that she’s escorted back to us. She doesn’t have much time to settle down in Bannock’s waiting arms, as Effie lets us know the judge would like a 10-minute break. I can breathe again. Fate has forced me to do things I never thought I would have to, but at least it’s on my side.

 

“I’m going to the bathroom, but I’ll be right back, okay?” I tell Peeta as we stand up. By the look he gives me, he’s not too happy I’m talking to him as if to Prim. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be right where we were before we came in.”

 

I hurry, bumping through chirpy, slow or chirpy and slow people. I’m scared that if I take too long, Ellesse will get a hold of Peeta, chew him up and spit him out, so that there’s nothing left of him to go back to the courtroom.

 

People are too scared from either my hastiness or have always been and I am just now noticing, so they don’t try to stop me to chat. The only real conversation I start is with Madge, who I find after I come out of the stall. She pushes off the sink she’s leaning against, her steps towards me determined. She doesn’t have any time to lose, either.

 

There’s urgency in her tone that surprises me. “Will you wear this? For good luck?” She holds out the circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier. Now I can observe better the small bird in flight I got fascinated with.

 

“Your pin?” I say. Wearing a token is about the last thing on my mind. I’ve always thought abilities and preparation are worth more than any superstition, good or bad.

 

“Here, I’ll put it on your dress, all right?” Madge doesn’t wait for an answer, she just leans in and fixes the bird to my dress.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Aren’t Peeta and his family the ones needing all the luck they can get? Madge either feels more comfortable giving it to me or she’s come to some conclusion I haven’t. She’s probably just worried about what things are going to be like after the trial ends. She is the mayor’s daughter after all. Perhaps she doesn’t want to feel any sense of guilt at the end for just standing by.

 

“Because you’re my friend,” Madge simply says. Then she’s gone.

 

I’d like to stay here longer, where the chaos from outside just barely reach and where I don’t have to sit straight like I’m expecting cold water to be dumped over my head. I’m Buttercup, I realize. Buttercup, ever since the moment I betrayed what little trust he had in me. The idea wakes me up in a weird way. I refuse to be a scared cat, so I quickly wash up before going outside once again.

 

Relief washes over me when I find Peeta embracing Rye. Not only is their mother out of sight, but the brothers seem to have fixed things between them… at least for now. Rye has earned my respect. I could see in his eyes that he didn’t do what he did because he had changed his opinion on things, which was fine, because I knew it went even above that. It was for Peeta, for family, for the tiniest spark of hope they could get that I had wanted to light. One mission accomplished, a million more to go.

 

Peeta spots me over Rye’s shoulder and after leaving a quick pat on his back, makes his way over to me. We lean against a wall, facing each other.

 

“Pretty,” he remarks, hand reaching out to trace the gold pin on my dress.

 

“Madge gave it to me,” I say shortly, never able to receive a compliment and lost in thought.

 

"You okay?" His hand moves to my cheek and I let out a breath.

 

"Just thinking how we’re the only two witnesses left."

 

"Katniss…" His hand moves away and he sighs, too. "You don’t have to do this. You really don’t. It’s clear the mentions of abuse didn’t change much, so your story won’t move them either. I wanted you to speak for selfish reasons-"

 

"I will speak, Peeta. I promised you and I promised myself." I nod as if to reassure both of us. "Even if it doesn’t help, even if it does hurt to try, I’ll do it."

 

Peeta smiles meekly and if there weren’t so many people around, I’d pull him close to me. It’s still important to me that everyone knows what I’m about to do isn’t because I have special interests in Peeta, so all feelings must be suppressed. There will be enough time for hugs, win or lose. “If that’s what you want,” he says softly.

 

“That’s what I want,” I reassure him.

 

When Effie returns to summon us, I cave and greedily accept Peeta’s offered hand, clutching it like a lifeline. We may be two, but I know it’ll be down to one soon.

 

“Haymitch?” I say as everyone but me takes their seats. I can tell that Peeta’s eyes are on me and that he’s ready to stand up again, but I unlace our fingers and place my hand on his shoulder, all the while looking at Haymitch. “I’ll be next.” I barely get to see the lawyer’s nod of approval, before Peeta’s forcing my attention to him, looking like a baby that hasn’t been allowed to follow his mother. “It’s okay. Let’s just get this over with.” I barely get to finish my sentence, before Effie’s whisking me off to the witness stand.

 

Once I’ve said the oath and am seated, I see what I didn’t before. It’s hard not to let yourself get lost in all of the faces staring back at you. Truly the entire population of 12 has found itself here today. A part of me is glad – I’ve always despised the invisible, but still existent line between us. There’s no time to worry where you live and how dark your skin is, when you’re being shown how cruel a woman that’s supposed to be an example figure can be. My stomach still clenches unpleasantly at the thought of speaking in front of all these people. I have no idea where to begin from. Thankfully Haymitch knows this and tells me to start by presenting myself and my cause.

 

“My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am here to testify against Mrs. Mellark.” The worlds come out shakily and I’ve barely given myself a moment to breathe again, before Ellesse’s lawyer is nearing me sneeringly. 

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say your connection to the Mellarks was? If each of the sides were to just choose random observers…”

 

“You would lose immediately,” I interrupt, not caring. I’m not impressed by her sudden confidence, obviously coming from the fact that I’m a Seam teenager. “If it was an option, a public poll would surely grant us victory. Just thinking of the little times I’ve gotten a glimpse of your client working is making me mentally add votes to Mr. Mellark. But lucky for you, it’s not that easy.” I expected the judge to shut me up by now, but no one seems to dare say anything. “I am a friend of Ellesse’s youngest son. Again, lucky for you, you haven’t heard him speak yet.” I would lock eyes with Peeta, but I’m afraid if I focus on anyone else but my target, I would lose all of my unexpected, yet thankfully accepted certainty.

 

“I hope you have something to back these words up, Miss Everdeen.” Oh, I do. A chill runs down my spine that takes me back to that fateful rainy day. How I didn’t know I could feel worse until Ellesse came out and made me feel even more pathetic and unwanted with her harsh words. The noise I heard, signalizing the hit, slap or kick she delivered to Peeta. The bread he threw me despite knowing it could mean more punishment. This is my little torment – a few words can hardly compare to years of misery.

 

“I’ve had very few encounters with Mrs. Mellark,” I begin. “I’m sure we are both grateful for that. Yet still, I can’t shake the unreasonable hatred she feels towards me. And not just me - people from the Seam in general.” Various voices from the crowd are heard. This is what I need – a reaction. “Innocent people who’ve done absolutely nothing to her fear her so much the bakery loses business because they’re too afraid to enter. A long time ago, I was absolutely terrified when she found me behind the bakery.”

 

“And what business did you have there?” Caroline asks, obviously digging for something that will make me look like the bad guy.

 

“Pawing through the thrash,” Ellesse mutters. I don’t know if she intended to be noticed, but in the absolute silence in the room, you could hear a pin drop.

 

“I wasn’t stealing!” I’m getting desperate and it’s not because I’m afraid in the end I’ll be the one in trouble. It’s because I’m so tired of the unfairness I’ve always had to put up with. “It was thrash. It was going to be thrown out anyway!”

 

“Please calm down and then continue, Miss Everdeen,” judge Camden says and Ellesse huffs unpleasantly.

 

Not hesitating for more than a second, I find Peeta in the crowd and focus on only him until my breathing becomes less labored.

 

When I start again, my words are directed towards the whole crowd. I know they will understand. They’ve all been there. “My family was going through a… rough time. The only thing I could do to keep us alive was to search for scraps.” The confession doesn’t cause uproar, but I can feel the effect it has, especially on those that can relate. Even a few merchants look like they’re imagining themselves in a similar situation.

 

"It doesn't matter. Even if the trash cans weren't empty, Ellesse had already taken to ordering me off her property."

 

"What happened then?" Haymitch asks carefully.

 

"I collapsed against a tree and, satisfied, she went back inside. I was ready to die in that moment, but something caught my attention." My voice catches at the end and I clear it. "There was clatter in the bakery. Screaming. Someone came out and I was terrified it might be her... but it was just Peeta. His cheek was red and I instantly knew the blow I had heard was because his mother had hit him with something."

 

"A rolling pin." I turn to Ellesse's row just in time to see her lawyer try to shush her, but she's unyielding. "It was with a rolling pin."

 

"Thank you," I tell her, feeling a confidence awaken in me. "But it doesn't matter. It wasn't the first time, was it? Or the last? It doesn't matter because it will never, ever happen again. You, Mrs Mellark," I spit out disdainfully, "are never going to change. But things are. Peeta won't ever get punished again for burning bread, or not washing that one crumb off a tray, or accidentally spilling a bag of flour, or putting red flowers on a cake instead of white ones. He won't feel guilty about doing something good whether for himself, or for someone else. He will pursue whatever after-school activities he desires and he will do whatever job he likes the most in the bakery." I smile at the picture my words created.

 

There’s a moment of hesitance before I blurt the next out. "Sometimes it's bigger things, like the government or the world we live in, that push us to a dark place. Sometimes it's our own family." I've had a little taste of both. It's what made me cross that invisible line between the things that are proper to say and those that can get you serious punishment.

 

"Thank you," I say finally and look to the judge, who gives me a nod, then proceeds to look thoughtful. I don't wait for Effie before I practically run back to my seat, melting my body against Peeta's. Our fingers interlace, my head falls to his shoulder. It's a risky move, but he leans down and brushes his lips against my hair. It makes everything worth it so much more.

 

We’re separated again when Peeta leaves to take the place I used to occupy. He doesn’t falter, he doesn’t shake, he recites the oath perfectly.

 

“So Peeta, I take it you are also defending your father’s side today?” Judge Camden begins.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why is that?” Caroline steps in unannounced. She’s getting desperate; I can feel it no matter how confident she still tries to sound. “What has your father given you that your mother hasn’t?”

 

“Love,” Peeta states simply, but then continues. “Dad plays the role of both parents for me and my brothers. He’s always tried to be twice as supportive and caring than any other father to make up for our mother. A lot of the time it had to be behind her back.”

 

“What’s an example of that?” inquiries Haymitch.

 

“Slipping us food when he knows we’re still hungry and our mother already ordered to clear the table. Buying us clothes for the winter when she insisted we could surely make do with the ones from 3 years ago. Gently reminding us promptness is important instead of smacking us over the head like our mother did after she found out we were late to school one day,” Peeta ticks off seamlessly.

 

“If he is such a good father…,” Caroline waits a few seconds, walking around the empty space, clearly for dramatic effect. “Why did he never stop his wife from treating her children so badly?”

 

I hold my breath. When I asked Peeta this, he didn’t have an answer for me.

 

“Well, this question isn’t directed towards me, is it?” He responds flatly.

 

I’m glad that the judge, or anyone else for that matter, doesn’t seem to be interested in hearing more stories. I have enough nightmares to wake up to for the next month.

 

Instead, Haymitch takes a different route. Something not planned, at least not with me present. “When did you start noticing something wasn’t quite right in your family? How was it like living with two people that never really got along?”

 

Peeta seems just as uncomfortable with the change of topic. What is our favorite lawyer doing?

 

“I knew since I was very young that my father had wanted to marry another woman. It was no secret to my mother either. No matter how many years they spent trying to grow together, mom never truly believed in dad’s love. Their relationship was strained from the very beginning.” Ellesse actually has feelings and insecurities? This I want to hear.

 

"Their business thrived nevertheless and they had kids for the extra hand and eventual inheritance. I’ve accepted that. It’s how most merchant families work." I anticipate some kind of reaction from the Town people present, but they look as if Peeta cast a spell on them to keep quiet while they hang on every word that comes out of his mouth.

 

“A healthy relationship is a rare occurrence in our family so, no, my parents’ had next to zero impact on me... Well, I guess it did affect me, but not necessarily in a bad way. Living under one roof with two people that can barely stand each other is a constant reminder of where I could end up. Especially if I listen to my mother’s advice.”

 

Listening to Peeta, I simultaneously try to make Haymitch look at me for even a second. But no, it’s like the win depends on him having his back turned to me. This is a plan in motion.

 

“And what’s that?” Caroline asks, unknowingly digging herself an even deeper hole.

 

Peeta sighs, but continues surprisingly smoothly. “She’s not one of these people who are strict towards you for your own good. You, who have mothers like that, are really lucky.” He nods to accentuate his point. “Ever since I can remember she’s had this… need to control my life. And I let her, because her arguments sounded valid to me. She'd tell me how I’d end up like my dad unless I was very, very careful. Apparently that was to be prevented by staying away from anyone that wasn’t on her “list”, meaning girls that didn’t have a future secured for them.” Girls from the Seam. It’s the second time today that I come to this realization. I wonder about Bannock and Elsa’s relationship. They seem happy together, but were they always? Or were they put together by the witch?

 

“Wouldn’t that make you exactly your dad? Settling for someone because it’s more practical, easy?” asks Haymitch.

 

“Not if we managed to build a strong relationship. I would still have a choice, but it would be a smaller one.” He hesitates, then shakes his head. “What she doesn’t know is… I haven’t had a choice in a while, not really.”

 

“Why ever not?” Judge Camden asks, mystified.

 

Peeta sighs. “Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember. My mother has a… an exceptional disdain for her.”

 

For some reason the confession sticks with me, but I expect everyone else to move on. Caroline, though, takes this as her cue to get out something that can work in her favor.

 

“Oh? Then why don’t we invite this girl to share her torment with the crowd?”

 

“That would be kind of… uhm, impossible.”

 

“Why’s that?” Caroline spits out.

 

Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. “Because… because… she came here with me.”


	11. For a while things were cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss' POV

My palms slam against the metal double doors, revealing a snow-covered District 12. Tiny flakes land on my bare skin and my shoes slide against the icy ground, but going back is not an option.

 

The thought of my escape was the only thing that got me through Mr. and Mrs. Mellark’s questioning, along with their lawyers’ final statements. I can’t recall a word of them. I stopped listening the moment Peeta returned to his seat. I didn’t want to listen anymore.

 

My beginning to soak feet carry me to the back of the Justice Building slowly, only partly because I don’t want to fall. The judge asked for half an hour to make his final decision. But I’ve already made mine.

 

What got me to this place? Was it taking the pictures of the affair, was it proposing to help Peeta prepare for the trial, was it beginning to actually care? Or was it just making things right, alone with some extra money? Now that I have been pulled directly into the mess, the reason doesn’t matter. My job might be illegal, but I have rules of my own. Peeta Mellark broke them.

 

“Katniss,” I hear him say before he’s reached the place where I’m leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. I’m so angry.

 

His walking slows down as he nears me, stopping a few steps farther from me than he probably should. “Look, I- I didn’t want it to happen that way. I’m sorry if I caught you off guard or emb…”

 

“Do you honestly think that’s what’s going through my mind right now?” I interrupt him rudely. “Whatever scheme you and Haymitch had, yeah, it would’ve been nice to give me a heads up. But you knew I wouldn’t go with it. Really, you two make such a great team, playing against the rules and everything.”

 

“Katniss…” I can’t believe I ever trusted him. That I was so worried about how he would be today, I actually had him sleep under my roof.

 

Everything that I had built him up to be originated from the day he threw me the bread. I see it in a different way now. He threw it to me, like to some pig. He might have known he was going to get punished, but it’s not like it was the first or last time. I liked to think that I do, but I don’t know Peeta Mellark.

 

“I can’t believe you lied!” I burst out. What he did didn’t align with my idea of him as a person.

 

“Lied?” He asks quietly, in contrast to my tone. “Katniss, are we talking about the same thing?”

 

“We’re talking about the thing where you lied about how you feel about me so we would win.” Everyone loves a good love story, even District 12.

 

Realization draws upon Peeta’s face, leaving me confused. What else could I possibly be upset about?

 

“It doesn’t… it doesn’t have to change anything,” he stammers.

 

I scoff. “Wasn’t that the point? You said it yourself – the abuse didn’t leave much of an impression. But this, this will get everyone, especially the judge, thinking.”

 

We gave people the idea from the beginning, when we walked in with our hands linked and never really separated. The kiss on my head grabbed those who weren’t already intrigued. I didn’t want anyone to think I was doing this because I had some romantic interest in Peeta, yet he was one step ahead.

 

“You used me.”

 

He has no response for that.

→ → →

I don’t know how much time passes, but it must be close to 30 minutes, because Elsa comes to gather me - Effie’s orders. The sight of the pregnant woman shakily making her way around the ice destroys any ideas I might have had about not returning to court.

 

“Are you okay?” Elsa asks me before we enter. I manage a nod.

 

She sighs, her hands settling on her belly. “Katniss, I don’t know what conclusions you’ve come to, but Peeta really didn’t mean-“

 

“I don’t want to talk about Peeta.”

 

“If you’d just listen-“

 

“All I’ve done today is listen.” With that, I open the door to the courtroom. Everyone, already in their previous seats, turns to look at me. Despite my outburst, Elsa walks side by side with me to the front row and sits between me and Peeta. The distance might confuse the crowd, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t plan to put on an act, if that’s what Peeta or anyone else is hoping for.  
When we win, I hate myself for the breath I let out in relief, for the way my heartbeat returns to its normal pace the moment the words are out of the judge’s mouth. I hate myself even for thinking I had some part in winning. But it was because of me, wasn’t it?

 

Elsa squeezes my shoulder before going into her husband’s arms. Down the row, Haymitch and Mr. Mellark are shaking hands. Peeta’s back is to me as he and Rye share a brief hug, but then his brother says something with a sly grin and Peeta pushes him away, turning to find me. His smile disappears as he notices my expressionless face, in contrast to every other person in the room that’s either reveling or grumbling. He swallows when something behind me grabs his attention. Someone – his mother. Her lawyer is trying to console her but Ellesse doesn’t seem to be moved, staring right at her youngest son.

 

“Congratulations,” I say loudly to grab Peeta’s attention.

 

He blinks. “Thank you.”

 

“Was it worth it?” The plan was to say quick goodbyes and get home with as less attention on me as possible, but his tortured expression keeps me in my place.

 

Peeta sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know yet.”

 

I nod. “Well…” I glance towards the doors where there’s beginning to form a line of people. “I’m going to get going.”

 

“It’s freezing out there.” He casts a quick look behind him. “My dad should drive you.”

 

“The roads are frozen, Peeta. I’m safer on my own feet. Besides, your dad is going to have a bunch of stuff to sign. And you really should all be together now.”

 

“But you…”

 

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Brushing my hand against his arm, I give him a reassuring nod before slipping away.

→ → →

Later ends up being a week later.

 

Even the agreement we had made for Peeta to help me out with my investigating business didn’t manage to bring us together. The absence of the money the Mellarks owed me that didn’t seem like much at first started to become a more obvious problem, combined with all the job offers I missed during the time I was focused solely on the trial. Upset at myself more than at anyone else, for the first time in a very long while, I wanted to wallow and stay at home forever. With school out and the weather too cold for hunting, I did wallow and stay at home not for forever, but for 3 very long days. Then we ran out of food and Prim fell on the snow because she needs new boots we don’t have the money for and will certainly not have if I spent one more second staring at nothing.

 

It turned out, though, that I wasn’t the only one that had chosen to stay at home. Due to the bad weather, the district was entirely peaceful. The Mellarks’ divorce seemed to be enough drama for people and unfortunately that meant no mysteries for me to solve. I couldn’t exactly go around asking if someone has something lost or stolen, so I was beginning to get desperate. Then last night Madge called me with a problem of her own. Hopefully she doesn’t solve it before I get to her house, which might not happen as soon as I had hoped. Not with Peeta in my way.

 

“What…” I try to get over my shock at seeing him on my porch. “What are you…” For some reason, I imagined that whenever we saw each other again, it would be on my terms, when I decide.

 

“Um… hi,” Peeta says, getting over his own surprise at me opening the door before he even knocked. “Sorry.” It’s said too flippantly for it to be the apology I need. And I know he didn’t come here to try to make peace with me using words, as I suspiciously eye the big paper bag he holds in his hands.

 

“There was… it was a holiday a couple of days ago. Christmas. Nobody really celebrates it… because we’re not supposed to… but I wanted to give you a present anyway.” He hands me the bag. It’s even heavier than I expected, so I lift it with both hands and press it to my chest. It doesn’t warm me like I expected it to, but I should have known whatever’s inside couldn’t have remained heated in this weather, especially since I’m not sure just how long Peeta spent in front of my door before I opened it.

 

“I’m not going to bother denying taking it, but… I don’t have anything to give you,” I say.

 

He smiles faintly. “That’s alright, I didn’t expect anything.” That doesn’t make me feel much better. “Well, actually, um…” He looks behind him nervously. “You could let me walk you to wherever you are heading off to.”

 

I can tell him I was just going to throw out the trash, or that I was going to bring in the mail. Or simply deny. This time, I have a way out. However, something in his expression makes me put out the fire that I’ve been feeling spark inside of me whenever I think of his betrayal. So I nod and step inside to leave his gift.  
If it wasn’t for the part inside of me that’s waiting for confrontation, begging for release, Peeta’s presence would have absolutely no effect on me. Especially since he is not only refusing to talk, but to look at me too. He walks as if he has never made his way across this exact path before and the snow that hasn’t had time to melt hasn’t been covering everything for days now.

 

Before, when I had a different idea of who Peeta was, I would catch him staring at me from time to time. Even before we became what I mistakenly called “friends”, when we were just strangers that had one real encounter that didn’t really mean anything, whenever I looked at the boy, he would hold my eyes for a second before looking away. It happened more frequently as we got closer, when we prepared for the trial while lounging on my couch or when our desks in class were right next to each other. But I never allowed myself to even enjoy the idea of looking at Peeta in any other situation than the one that required me to show that I was listening to him.

 

I can’t help it now. Without the fear of him catching me, I stare, more than impolitely and at times dangerous, as my eyes aren’t glued where they should be - to the icy road.

 

I don’t know what I expect to find. Something to confirm what a manipulative person he is? Surely I would’ve seen that from the start. But I guess that’s what manipulation is all about.

 

His eyes stray in my direction; not to me, but a little lower and a few steps ahead. I know he knows I’m watching him, but he won’t return my gaze. Instead, he puts his hands in the pockets of his coat and sniffles, looking down.

 

Not even blinking, I ask, “Are you sick?”

 

He shakes his head, a little smile appearing on his lips for a second.

 

Then what’s wrong with you, I want to ask. Another question to add to the list. I might as well start ticking things off.

 

"So did you do anything… on Christmas?" I ask dumbly, just to begin somehow.

 

"Nothing exciting. Quite the opposite actually. My mother had a few days to get all of her stuff from the house, so we had to wait and the moving back happened to be exactly on Christmas."

 

I’ve avoided that side of town recently. “Oh. So the bakery’s open again?”

 

"No, not yet. There’s some stuff to work out and things to consider. We have almost too much freedom now," he chuckles. "It’s opening the first day of the new year."

 

"New beginnings," I think out loud.

 

"Yeah," Peeta says, looking to me so quickly I would’ve missed it if I had been looking anywhere else. “Things at home don’t really feel… new, yet,” he continues hesitantly. “Not that I wanted everything to change all of a sudden, but…”

 

“Rye is still a jerk?”

 

He laughs. “Well, yeah. But not much more than usual.” His smile slowly vanishes. “My dad… He hasn’t acted any different either, but I feel like that’s the problem. Ever since he said those things at the trial…”

 

I swallow nervously, because I had been too upset to listen by the time it was Mr. Mellark’s turn to speak. “Which things exactly?”

 

He chooses this moment to finally look at me. I must look raddled enough, because he clarifies. “What we knew was going to be a problem – why he didn’t do anything to stop what his wife put her children through. His… tactic, or whatever, was to apologize instead of to actually give a good enough excuse,” he says bitterly. “I never needed an apology. I saw it in his eyes every time he looked at me. I just needed a better explanation than fear or futility.”

 

Some things you’re better off not knowing. It’s my one fear whenever I think about my dad’s murder. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, it’s okay. It was worth it. I just wish it hadn’t cost me you.”

 

A shaky breath escapes between my chapped lips as I quickly look away. For a moment, I long for the same thing. But then I remember Peeta is the one who ruined… whatever we had, or were beginning to have. He has no right to take anything else from me. I hold my head up, focusing on the mayor’s house that is slowly appearing in the distance.

 

“And how is Prim doing?”

 

“Oh...” I struggle to form words, unprepared for his inquiry. “Good. With school out, she's constantly out running around, leaving me to worry. But since she fell on the ice a couple of days ago, I only allow her to go to her friends' homes.”

 

“It's funny how you wish for snow all year long and when it's finally here, you don't want it anymore.”

 

I wrinkle my nose. “No. I never look forward to it. It would mean anticipating cold, hungry nights. Though it's not to blame for Prim's accident. If her boots weren't so worn out, she would've been fine.”

 

“Katniss! You should've said something!” Peeta explodes, but thankfully only slows his steps. I'm scared that if we stay in the same place for too long, people will show their curious faces. “You know we owe you money. Enough for a good pair of boots.”

 

“We had another deal.”

 

“We did. But obviously I haven't held up my end of it. While you've been struggling, we've been ordering new ovens from the Capitol.”

 

Something tugs at me, screaming at the unfairness, but I know it wouldn't be smart to let it out.

 

“A deal is a deal. And I do need your help. I would've asked for it, but I haven't found any clients recently.”

 

Peeta considers this for a moment. “Then let me help with finding them as well.”

 

“Peeta, that's a very discreet task...”

 

“I know. I'll be careful. I know the kind of people that seem to get themselves into trouble.”

 

I nod at him. “Thank you.”

 

“Just doing my job.” He smiles shyly at me and I bite my lips to keep from doing the same. They're so dry and easy to tear, so I immediately taste blood.

 

I look to the mayor’s house again. “You might have to do it soon. Madge has asked for my help with something, and if it requires photography…”

 

“Just give me a call,” Peeta says and I nod.

 

The awkwardness reappears when we come to a stop in front of the Undersee’s door.

 

“Well… Thanks for walking with me,” I say.

 

“Thanks for letting me,” Peeta laughs. “I hope you like your gifts.”

 

“Unless your baking suddenly changed along with all of this talk about new beginnings, I will,” I reassure him with a smile. He returns it before continuing his walk down the road.

 

While I wait for my knocks to be answered, I turn in Peeta’s direction just to catch him looking back at me. The stupid grin returns to my face and I shake my head, reaching out a hand to knock again.

 

The maid is the one who finally answers. I expect her to follow me to Madge’s room as usual, but she just gives me a gesture to go up the stairs.

 

“I’ve been given strict orders by Miss Undersee to let you in without bothering her,” she tells me. I raise an eyebrow at the thought of Madge ordering someone, especially this nice woman, but I do as she says.

 

Not knowing what to expect, I knock on the door that leads to her bedroom instead of just walking in.

 

“Who is it?”

 

“It’s Katniss.”

 

The door opens immediately and she ushers me in.

 

“Katniss.” She takes a deep breath. “How are you?”

 

“No, you don’t get to do that. What is going on?” I try to laugh it off, settling on her bed.

 

Madge plays nervously with her hands before climbing on the bed, one leg beneath her and the other tapping against the floor. “You didn’t see anyone outside the house, did you?”

 

Even though I was too preoccupied with Peeta, I remember noting the deserted streets. “No, nobody. The only person I’ve interacted with is the maid. Why?”

 

“Well… I haven’t seen anyone either,” Madge says. “But I know they’re there. Somebody is always there. Has been since school ended, possibly longer than that.”

 

“Outside your house?”

 

“No!” She suddenly exclaims. “Wherever I go! Always!”

 

I watch her carefully as she unravels.

 

“And Katniss… you know I don’t go out often. Only to get some fresh air or something to eat. But they know whenever I do. They’re at the park, at the bakery.

 

“My father didn’t believe me, but I know you will. You have to.”


End file.
